


he's good and he's bad (and he's all that i've got)

by seren_ccd



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seren_ccd/pseuds/seren_ccd
Summary: There wasn’t anyone left.  Not really.  Some had fallen in battle, some had just…disappeared.   At least the sea remained.  Waves still crashed on the shore and birds still flew in the sky and Billy Bones tries to move on.  Eventual Billy Bones/Abigail Ashe, but everyone shows up eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is firmly jennifercarolyn and sssoto's fault for the enabling, but mostly jennifercarolyn's for the very cool prompt. I have a vague idea as to where this is going, so welcome to whatever this is!
> 
> Title is from 'Devil's Backbone' by The Civil Wars because of course it is.

A month after the pirate rebellion failed and everyone Billy had ever called ‘friend’ or ‘brother’ had either died or disappeared, Billy finally raised his head out of a bottle.

With swollen eyes and a horrible taste in his mouth, he looked around the room he’d fallen asleep in the night before. It was dirty, dingy, and even worse, in the middle of Savannah in the summer and mosquitoes swarmed around his wrists and ankles. Halfheartedly swatting at them, Billy got to his feet and stumbled to the basin in the corner. The water had possibly been considered fresh a week ago, but he splashed it on his face nonetheless. His head stayed bent over the cracked basin and he closed his eyes while his stomach churned. His balance came back to him slowly, as did his awareness of the world outside.

He heard people talking and going about their business, shop-owners hawking their goods, but above all that…he heard the sea. At least the sea remained. Waves still crashed on the shore and birds still flew in the sky.

There wasn’t anyone left. Not really. Some had fallen in battle, some had just…disappeared. The image of Silver laughing flashed behind Billy’s eyes and he shuddered. The man had never really forgiven Billy turning him into the great villain and Billy wondered how that would come back around to him someday. If Silver survived, that was. Hell, of course, he survived. Wherever the fuck John Silver was, he was alive, that much Billy was certain of.

He opened his eyes and lifted his head, and after he looked around the room once more, grabbing his belt and pistol that had no powder, he left without looking back.

Billy made his way passed other sailors on the landing and made no eye contact with any of them as he walked down the stairs and into the pub.

The desire to have a drink was a painful, aching thing in his chest, but he kept walking; only to stop when he saw a familiar figure at the end of the bar.

Billy felt the nausea in his stomach return with an added dose of pure anger, but he just gritted his teeth and went over to the man.

It took him standing beside the slumped figure before he looked up at Billy.

Flint squinted at him, then sighed before he said in a voice as dry and worn as an old track, “It’s done, Billy. You won.”

“No one won,” Billy countered, his voice just as scratchy from drink and disuse. “And fuck you.”

“Indeed,” Flint said grabbing his drink and grimacing when he realised it was empty. “Fuck you, too.”

“Going to just sit here and drink?” Billy asked, getting angrier and angrier by the second, but at what he couldn’t really say. Sure, the old hurts were a part of it ( _god damn it, Gates_ ), but there was something about seeing Captain fucking Flint drunk and maudlin that made Billy’s blood boil.

“That’s precisely what I’m going to do,” Flint said. “I’ve gone to war, several times over, I’ve tried for peace, I’ve tried every single fucking tactic under the fucking sun, but I have not simply sat in a fucking tavern drinking fucking piss and I’m going to see if that fucking changes anything because nothing else fucking has.”

He delivered his monologue in the most even tone that Billy had ever heard from him and something in Billy snapped. He grabbed Flint by the collar and slammed him against the bar.

“You’re Captain Flint,” Billy said between gritted teeth.

Flint’s eyes rose to Billy’s and Billy nearly flinched at the bleakness he saw there.

“No,” Flint said. “Not anymore. _Captain Flint_ has returned to the sea.”

Billy let him go and took a step back, feeling unmoored and too tall and too god damn much of everything.

“And if you’re in the mood to accept advice from a dead man,” Flint said sitting back down. “Let _Billy Bones_ do the same.”

Then without another glance, he turned on his chair, his back to Billy.

For a moment, Billy envisioned killing him. Running the bastard through with his sword. For Gates. For the lives of the men Flint had used and thrown away. For _all of it_.

But the moment passed and Billy turned on his heel and walked out of the bar.

He went straight to the sea and stared at the waves, then looked at the harbour and the ships that anchored there.

Scratching a hand over his jaw, he felt a month’s worth of beard on his face and huffed a laugh. Christ, what he must look like. A beggar-man, at best and at worst, a madman. Truth of it was, he was halfway to being both; he had very little coin left and his wits were foggy from the drink and the sorrow and the failure.

He headed towards the harbour, thinking he’d get on the first ship out, but his eye was caught by a familiar form leaning against a tree, the man’s gaze also fixed on the harbour. Billy changed his direction and walked towards his former crewmate.

“Billy,” Joji said as Billy approached.

“Joji,” he replied. 

“Done with the drink?” Joji asked, rubbing his thumb across his chin as he stared at the harbour.

“Think it’s done with me,” Billy answered. “Heading out?”

“Maybe,” he said nodding slowly. “Been some time since I saw the south seas. Perhaps they’re in better condition than this place.”

“God willing,” Billy said squinting at the horizon.

“And you?”

Billy paused. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do,” Joji said clapping a hand on Billy’s shoulder. “You’re the man with the words. You know.”

“I’m not sure that man exists anymore,” Billy said slowly. 

“Then who are you?” Joji asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Billy said rubbing his forehead. 

“At heart, you’re what you always were,” Joji said, picking up a small satchel. “You’re a sailor. Find a ship. Go to sea.”

“Yeah,” Billy said taking Joji’s hand. “Fair winds, my friend.”

“Fair winds, Billy.” With a firm clasp of his hand, Joji nodded and then walked away.

Billy watched him go and felt the vestiges of his life tremble around him, slowly fading away. Eventually, as the sun rose in the sky and the heat of the day pounded down upon him, Billy’s anger faded. It didn’t go away, just receded some. While he strove for the ideals that had been explained to him as a child, at the end of the day, he was a practical man. He had to eat and he had to live. 

But not here, he thought as he looked around him with distaste. He couldn’t stand another minute of Savannah and he decided to head north. Maybe make it to just south of Cape Hatteras, there was bound to be something heading to sea up there. Heading anywhere. Just away from here.

He took the long way around the town, skirting the shops and people. Just when he reached the road heading north, he stopped to fill his water skin at an outside well. He filled it and splashed some on his face and neck, thinking he’d shave once he reached his final destination.

As he attached the skin to his belt, a voice asked, “Hey, aren’t you Billy Bones?”

Billy looked over at a tall, lean man who was crouched in the doorway of an empty house. His hair was wild around his face and his eyes were a dark brown. He stared at Billy intently and a smile started to curve on his face.

“Yeah,” the man said. “You’re Billy Bones. Aren’t you?”

Billy stood up straight, glanced at the town and the sea in the distance. He thought of Flint, of Silver, of Joji and all his brothers. And then he thought of the way blood had splashed on the sand and the grit of dirt in his mouth and the sting of the sun.

“Nah,” Billy said, staring at the sea. “I’m not him. Not anymore.”

And without another word, he headed north.

* * *

The brown-eyed man watched the man known as Billy Bones walk north, heading to God knew where. When Billy disappeared into the horizon, the man stood up and stared at the empty road.

He looked north and then south, back towards Savannah and the sea; then once again, he fixed his gaze on the northern horizon.

But then, with a funny quirk of his mouth, the man turned and headed south, back into Savannah.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! A plot! Sort of. Well, stuff happens? Thank you so much for sticking with me on this one. My plan is for this to be five chapters, so there's three more to go. I hope you enjoy!

"Yes, miss, your name?" a man with a leather notebook asked as he looked the woman up and down; not leering, simply assessing.

"Mariah Pemberton."

"Yeah, you're on the manifest, come aboard," he said jerking his head towards the _Eloise_ , his short queue bobbing in with the movement.

Mariah Pemberton, more commonly known as Abigail Ashe, walked up the gangplank, her small carpet bag firmly in hand. She had no other baggage with her and her heart beat loudly as she walked over the harbour water and onto the ship bound for Liverpool. A sailor held out a hand and with a thin smile, she accepted the help on deck.

"Cabins are that way, miss," he said, his Irish accent thick and his wink more than a little cheeky, so Abigail was sure to only nod as she headed towards the hull of the ship.

She found her room, a small bunk she could hardly turn around in, but private, and set her bag down on the bed, sitting herself down beside it. Abigail tried to breathe slowly, but her heart couldn't stop thrumming and her hands shook. She pressed them to her middle and heard the crinkle of her important documents that she had sewn a secret fold into her chemise to hold and tried to reassure herself that it had worked; her subterfuge had worked and she was well on her way to independence.

However, she knew that she would only begin to feel at ease when the ship was well at sea and the Cape was a distant speck on the horizon. The sailors shouted and moved on deck above her head and she listened to their distant voices and breathed in the scent of wood and salt.

After what seemed like hours, she felt the sway of the ship as it moved. Abigail closed her eyes, certain that at any moment, the door to her cabin would fly open and someone would demand that she return to shore at once. But the ship continued to move and when the shouts above had lessened, she opened her eyes. She swallowed hard and got to her feet.

She stowed her bag beneath her bunk and smoothed her dress, the now familiar crinkle of paper below her breasts reassuring her once more, and on a whim, she removed her bonnet, then left her bunk.

The ship was used primarily for cargo, but there were a handful of passengers that Abigail saw as she walked past the other small cabins, two men and what looked like a mother and father with their small child. She nodded when they looked at her, but did not stop to talk; she just carried on to the deck. She emerged into sunshine that made her blink and drawing upon her previous voyages, she kept to the side and out of the men's way. She cautiously made her way to the railings and looked behind her.

The eastern seaboard of the Americas was nothing more than a dark line on the horizon and Abigail finally breathed easily as a smile touched her lips.

Life after the death of her father had been lonely, at best, and dreadful, at worst. She joined her father's 'friends', the Blakes, in Savannah, but they quickly moved north when Flint and his men started to terrorize the coast. Abigail could admit to herself that there had been times she would have preferred the company of those men than that of her 'friends'. It became apparent very early on that the Blakes had very little to recommend them and were of the puritanical sort and expected Abigail to fall to her knees daily thanking them for their Christian charity. They also expected her to pay all of their debts and while Abigail had been happy to finance some of their needs, it became clear that she was nothing more to them than a change purse. The final nail in that particular coffin fell when Abigail came across correspondence directed to her and her alone explaining the contents of her mother's will that came to her when she reached her majority; which Abigail had done six months previously. The contents included a small parcel of land in the north of Wales which contained a modest house. The correspondence also included a letter of introduction from one of Abigail's distant relations who resided nearby the property.

In the end, it wasn't so much the appeal that Wales might have held, as it was the desire to escape the Blakes and their increasing attempts to marry Abigail off to their profligate eldest son, Ethan, a scoundrel and a bore that spent the majority of his time staring at Abigail in a manner that spelled all sorts of terrible things should she actually marry him. So, while outwardly being as demure and polite as she'd ever been, Abigail began to make plans, and then set them in motion.

As she planned, she thanked her parents daily for the ability to read, write and do sums to a more than decent degree, as all were needed to make the arrangements to travel to Wales. Abigail made her travel arrangements using the name of a woman she met once at a party who had been about to venture further west. Once Abigail was settled back in Britain, she would do her best to write the actual Miss Pemberton to thank her for the use of her name.

The wind was warm on her face as she stood staring at the land she'd hardly had a chance to discover, and eventually she turned her back on the past and looked down at the ship. Truthfully, she hadn't spent much time considering what her voyage back to Liverpool would be like, only that she had to make it. Now, she took her time to examine the ship.

It wasn't as grand a ship as the Spanish warship, or as large as the one Ned Lowe had abducted her from, but it was certainly large enough and the deck felt sturdy beneath her feet. The sails unfurled even more above her head and she looked up at the great whoosh they made as they caught the wind. The speed of the ship picked up and Abigail was surprised to feel herself smiling fully as the wind whipped her hair out of her updo to fly about her head.

The men looked to be industrious and she spotted no one sitting or standing idly, everyone had a task and Abigail had the sudden thought that she should have remembered to bring something to occupy her time. Perhaps the captain would loan her some paper and ink...

She lifted her chin and decided to head back to her bunk for a spell and perhaps even sleep some as it had been some time since she felt she could relax. The ship pitched over the waves as she walked towards the stairwell and she did her best to stay out of the way of the men, most of whom ignored her or gave her a quick nod. Just as she reached the stairs leading down to the cabins, the ship rolled over a large wave and Abigail found herself falling backwards.

"Oh!" she said, but a pair of strong, warm hands caught her by the shoulders and set her upright. "Oh, thank you, I'm so sorr-"

She looked over her shoulder at her rescuer and she froze as she recognized the blue eyes that stared back at her. Said blue eyes widened and before she could say a word, his hand covered her mouth and pushed her into the stair well, up against the wall, his body blocking her from sight.

Abigail gave a muffled yelp and her hands came up to grasp his wrist, her eyes wide with bewilderment more than fright.

The man she knew as Billy Bones glanced over his shoulder and then back at Abigail, and said, "Don't scream. And don't say my name. All right?"

Abigail nodded under his hand. He swallowed and then lowered his hand from her face. She breathed out and just stared up at him. 

He frowned. "Uh, I'm... I'm sorry I grabbed you, but....fuck. Do you even remember me?"

"Of course, I remember you," she said tucking her hair behind her ear. "I remember all of that time with your crew. I surprised you remember me."

"Hard to forget the time I returned the daughter of a governor to him," Billy said drily before he winced. "Uh, sorry."

She shook her head. "You didn't kill him."

"Good as," he said. "And probably--" He stopped talking but Abigail could fill in the rest of the sentence. She'd had a great deal of time to realize that her father had not been a favourite of pirates or even seamen in general.

"Are you no longer with Captain Flint's crew?" she asked awkwardly.

He snorted. "No. And I know I don't have any right to ask you to do me any favours, but they don't know me here."

"How could they not know you?" she asked confused.

"They only know me as a man willing to work the rigging," he said. "I go by another name now. I know that sounds mad, but..."

"Actually, it sounds rather reasonable," she said smiling down at her hands. "As the name on the manifest is not my own."

He raised his eyebrows. "Is that right?"

"Mariah Pemberton," she said. "I...couldn't use my real name. For various reasons."

"Henry Gates," he said. "Well met, then, Miss Pemberton."

Abigail smiled and he actually grinned back, and tension she hadn't even realized remained in her chest eased as he stood close. All too soon, he looked away.

"I have to go," he said, looking worried. "Probably best we don't act, uh, familiar with each other. Not that I'd, ah Christ." He winced and looked away. “I hate to ask this of you. You are the last person to show any of my kind any kind of loyalty.”

“Your kind?” she asked. “Do you mean as a pirate or as a man? For I came to the conclusion a long time ago that that is what you are. You’re men. And like all men, you have the capability to be monstrous, but so do those who would call themselves civilized. I’ve found there is very little difference...in the end.”

Billy’s eyes had stayed on her during her entire speech and Abigail looked away, her cheeks warm after her impromptu speech, and added, “Besides, I rather feel relieved, knowing that someone else knows my secret. And my real name. I don’t feel as alone as I did an hour ago.”

She met his gaze and placed her hand on his arm, only to snatch it away. “I’ll keep your confidence. I’ll not breathe a word of it, Mr Bo, ah, Gates."

A pained look came into his eyes, but he just nodded, before he said, "Look, watch your step around here. The lads seem decent enough, but you're on your own, so be careful, yeah?"

"I will," she said. "I'm more worried that I'll run out of something to occupy myself with."

His mouth quirked a bit. “Right, well.” He turned, but then looked back at her. “Do you sew?”

"Sew? Yes, of course," she said.

"Check with the cook," he said, ducking his head to meet her eyes. "There's always a need for a pair of hands to sew things up. Clothes, even the occasional sail, most men hate to bother to take the time. You may need to clear it with the captain, but I can’t imagine he’ll say no." He flushed. “That is, if you don’t think it’s beneath you. I mean, you’re a lady-“

“Not here, I’m not,” Abigail said. “I’m just a traveller. But, thank you. I'll talk to the cook later today."

Billy quirked his mouth briefly, then said, "Take care, Miss Pemberton."

And then he was gone, back on deck. Abigail waited a moment, then emerged briefly to watch him join some other men, one of them clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a large amount of rope. Billy nodded and then headed up one of the masts. Abigail watched him climb until he stopped and perched on the mast to uncoil the rope. His hands were steady and he perched atop the tall mast without a second thought to his safety and Abigail could only marvel at the deftness of his skill. A shout from another sailor startled her, and she ducked her head before she turned away. With a peculiar feeling in her stomach, she headed to her bunk, all sorts of thoughts flying about her head.

As Billy, _Henry_ , predicted, both the captain and the cook were happy to have her help and Abigail found that she very quickly had plenty to do. It may have been unorthodox for a passenger to take on the sailor’s tasks, but Captain McGann, while kind, was a God-fearing man who ran a decent ship and firmly believed that idle hands led to all manner of mischief, so Abigail was more than welcome to mend to her heart’s content.

The first week on board the _Eloise_ passed quickly. The cook, an elderly gentleman by the name of Stevens, was gruff and taciturn, but welcome to hand over simple mending to Abigail. Once the crew discovered someone was willing to mend their clothes, she found herself inundated with odd trousers and shirts. In fact, not twenty-four hours had passed between her making her offer and clothes appeared outside her cabin door.

What surprised Abigail the most was how she truly didn’t mind it. As she sat on deck, in a little alcove out of the way with plenty of sunlight to see by, she marvelled over the freedom that came with assuming another person’s identity. Billy had been right, Abigail was, in fact, a lady and a lady did not sew men’s tears and rips. But clearly, Mariah Pemberton did. She hid a smile as she wondered what else Mariah Pemberton did and against her better judgement, her eyes lifted, as they always seemed to, up to look at the riggers on the masts.

He was up there, as he almost always was, guiding the other younger sailors with a sure voice and a steady hand. Ignorant as Abigail was about sailing and crew positions, even she knew that he was currently performing tasks well below his capabilities. The rest of the crew seemed to be aware of this as well as she’d noticed how they’d defer to him almost instinctively. 

Right now, he was instructing a young rigger, no more than a lad, on how to adjust the sail to unfurl smoothly.

“Tie the knot around the edge,” he called and Abigail watched the young rigger imitate the movement Billy had just performed. “Good. Now, throw it over.”

The rigger, in his enthusiasm, flung the rest of the rope to Billy with a great amount of force. The weight of the rope hit Billy in his chest that the grunt he made could be heard by Abigail on deck. She was on her feet before she even knew it, the boatswain’s trousers on the ground at her feet, as she stared up at Billy who fell backwards off the mast.

“Gates!” cried several crewmen and the young rigger even stretched out an arm to catch Billy as he fell.

Abigail gasped when Billy’s arm caught one of the low-hanging ropes and managed to stop his fall. The rope went taunt and Billy swung into the sail.

“I’m all right!” he shouted. “Throw another rope, Davies!”

The young rigger did as he was told and Abigail watched, her hands pressed to her stomach, as Billy caught the other rope and levered himself down to the deck. He winced as he looked down at his hands and she thought she saw blood on his palms from where the ropes had cut into his skin.

Soon he was surrounded by the crew and the captain.

“All right, there, Mr Gates?” Captain McGann asked.

Billy nodded. “Yes, sir. Davies just needs to work on his aim.”

The crew laughed and Abigail relaxed a little. She remained on her feet however, even as Billy accepted claps on the shoulder and a flask of something from his crewmates.

“Let’s get you bandaged, Gates,” Porter, the ship’s physician, called. “Then you can head back up there.”

“Yeah,” Billy said nodding as he took a drink and then handed the flask back to the boatswain. As he headed up to the quarter-deck, he noticed Abigail still standing. She tried to school her expression, but she must have still looked worried, for he smiled, ever so slightly, and nodded his head to her, before disappearing below deck.

With a shaky sigh, Abigail sat back down and picked up her mending. Her fingers trembled as she tried to focus on stitching the tear in the trousers.

“He’ll be all right, miss,” a voice said beside her.

She looked up and over at Timms, the Irish fellow who had greeted her when she boarded, who was now checking the knots on the bow.

“I know,” she said smiling briefly. “It was just startling to watch. A man almost falling.”

“Aye, but Gates, he knows ships and he knows winds and he’ll be right as rain, don’t you worry,” Timms said grinning.

Abigail nodded and then went back to her mending. She stayed on deck much longer than she usually did, only going back to her cabin when Billy emerged from below decks, his hands wrapped in tight bandages. He spared her a quick glance and a smile before he scaled back up the main mast, calling to Davies to be ready to try again.

She watched them for a little while longer and then went below, utterly unaware of the gaze that followed her.

* * *

With a sharp gasp, Abigail sat up in her bed, her hands outstretched into the dark. Dark. God, it was so dark. Her breath rattled in her chest and her eyes streamed with tears as she blinked in the darkness. Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the very pale moonlight that shone in through her tiny window. Pressed against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, she looked around the cabin.

Empty.

Of course, it was empty.

She let out a sob and pressed her forehead to her knees. She hadn’t had such a strong nightmare since she’d come aboard the _Eloise_ but she figured she was due for one. She lifted her head again to make sure no one was crouched at the foot of her bed, waiting to grab her in the darkness.

No one.

No Ned Low, or Ethan Blake, or any of the hateful men who had filled her father’s house in Charles Towne.

Her fingers swiped the tears away from her eyes and she stared at the pale light of the moon through her window. Her chest still sore from breathing so hard, Abigail threw back the thin sheet and got to her feet. She made sure her papers were in her chemise pocket and forgoing her stays and stockings, she pulled on her dress and slipped on her shoes. Aware that her hair was in a simple braid and that it was most certainly late at night, she still walked out of her little room and headed to the main deck.

There was only a skeleton crew on deck, consisting of two lads in the crow’s nest and a gentleman at the wheel. He nodded to her when she passed and she nodded back, intent on getting to the side. She clasped her hands on the railing and tilted her head back, inhaling deeply. Some of the ache in her chest and head eased, but she still felt traces of her nightmare at the edges of her vision and she stared out at the dark sea. She breathed in and out and a tear escaped her eye, but it was borne out of frustration at herself and not of sadness.

“Are you ill?” a soft, low voice asked behind her.

She turned, wiping her face and she saw Billy standing in the shadows. He must have been there when she arrived, but had stayed silent. Until now.

“Not ill,” she said trying to smile. “Just…ill dreams.”

He nodded and didn’t reply; Abigail wondered what he dreamed of, if his nightmares were as terrible as she imagined them to be.

She turned back towards the ocean and closed her eyes, her face tilted upwards. Sea spray lightly wafted over her face and she smiled a little, feeling much more refreshed. She glanced over her shoulder to see Billy still watching her.

“Are you working?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Ill dreams.”

“Amazing how they follow a person across an ocean,” she said sadly. “How are your hands? That was quite the fall the other day.”

“Healing,” he said finally pushing away from the wall to stand beside her, crouched over the rail, looking out at the sea. “Had worse moments.”

“I have no doubt,” she said laughing a little.

“How are your hands?” he asked nodding at her fingers. “I see the crew is keeping you busy.”

“They are and they’re fine,” she said smiling down at her hands, spreading her fingers on the wooden rail. “I’m glad of it. I hate being idle and it’s nice to be of use.” She lifted her head. “The men have been very grateful.”

“Any problems?”

“Problems?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Anyone behaving as they shouldn’t. Trying to take advantage...”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh, no. Everyone has been very polite and well, kind.”

“Good,” he said with a sharp nod. “If anyone isn’t, tell me. I’ll set them to rights.”

“Thank you,” she said smiling down at the waves that splashed against the hull. “I have a feeling they’d listen to you. They seem to follow your every command.”

He went very still and Abigail could feel the tension that thrummed in his body. Eventually, he said, “They shouldn’t.”

She turned to look at him, really, truly look at him. The beard was the biggest difference from when she saw him last, but there were lines beside his eyes; lines that seemed to have been etched into his skin through pain and sorrow. His hands were large and scarred and they gripped the railing so tightly she imagined she heard the wood creak under his palms.

“My God,” she breathed. “What happened?”

Slowly, his eyes moved to meet hers and she held very still, as still as she could while he looked at her. She didn’t flatter herself to think that she could read the past in his eyes or even come close to understanding the specifics; all she knew was that he’d been fighting a war for so long and had lost so much, he was barely holding on to the pieces of himself. His brow furrowed as he looked at her and he bent his head. Abigail fought the urge to lay her hand on his exposed neck, to rub circles with her fingertips over his pulse.

“Look up and out over the sea,” he said after a very long moment, lifting his head. “Look up at the sky.”

Abigail blinked, but did as he said. The stars shone brightly in the cloudless sky, twinkling in the black.

“See the stars over there,” he said coming to stand behind her and pointing. She struggled to look in the direction he was pointing in as the heat from his body overwhelmed her, but she lifted her eyes to look at the patch of sky he pointed to.

“The small square of bright stars?” she asked.

“With two smaller stars trailing off from the lower corner, yes,” he said. “That’s Pegasus. It’s always up there when you cross the Atlantic. It may move up and down in the sky as we cross the sea, but it remains there. After we’re long gone from this world, it’ll still be there as it was before we were born.” His hand fell to rest on the railing, so close to her own clasped hands, but not quite touching. “It’s my still point when the seas are rough and I fear I’m to be lost.”

“Your still point?” Abigail repeated and once again, she fought the irrational urge to turn and bury her face in his chest while she held him close, wanting to take away the pain she heard in his voice and feeling like a fool for being so fanciful.

“If you wake in the night again,” he said, finally moving away, the cold air of the sea chilling her and sucking away the warmth his body had given her. “Look for Pegasus. It hasn’t let me down yet.”

She smiled. “It wouldn’t. It rescued Perseus several times over as I recall.”

His mouth quirked a little as he shifted away. “Been some time since I heard the stories the stars are based on.”

“I had a lovely book my mother gave me of the Greek myths,” she said, her smile fading some. “I wore some of the pages down from reading them so often.” She looked up at Pegasus. “That book is long gone, sadly, but now I have one of the stories back in the sky.” Her gaze fell back on Billy. “Thank you.”

He just inclined his head and the winds picked up, along with more sea spray and Abigail shivered.

“It’s still some hours before dawn,” he said. “You should go back to your cabin. Stay warm.”

“Yes,” she said nodding as she wrapped her arms around her waist. “I… Good night, Mr Gates.”

“Good night, Miss Pemberton,” he said.

She gave him a quick smile and moved back towards the stairs leading below decks. She paused when he called her name, and turned and said, “Yes?”

“Which myth was your favourite?” he asked.

Confused, she thought for a moment and then said, “Well, we spoke of Perseus earlier and I always rather liked Andromeda. My mother said that she went on to travel alongside Perseus after he rescued her from the sea monster.”

“Well, then,” he said leaning on the railing. “The next time you have ill dreams, I’ll show you were she lives in the sky.”

Abigail’s heart thumped loudly in her chest and she smiled, even as she looked down. “I would like that.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her head to meet his gaze. Then she bobbed a small curtsey to him and quickly walked back to her room.

Once inside, she fell upon her small, narrow bed and stared up at the worn wooden ceiling, her thoughts tumbled over themselves and if she closed her eyes, she could still smell the leather of his vest and the salt of the sea spray on her skin. Sleep came to her swiftly.

* * *

“The thump of that metal leg was something to hear. The _crunch_ of the ill-favoured Mr Dufrense’s skull… I’ll tell you, lads, the sound of a coconut being split still does something to my spine. Sends shivers up and down, it does.”

The group of young lads stood around the stranger who had just entered the bar and sat all alone nursing drink after drink, his brown eyes wild and his voice mesmerizing as he told tale after tale. The lads hung on every word. They were too young to have played any kind of part in the Nassau battles, and they longed for adventures and swordfights of their own.

“Did he live?” a young fair-haired boy asked the man. “The ill-favoured Mr Dufresne?”

The man fixed his wild gaze on the boy. “It a man stomped a metal leg up and down on your skull for an entire evening, do you think you’d live to tell the tale?” He shook his head. “Nah, boy. If Long John Silver wants you dead, you stay dead, you hear me?”

“How do you know all this?” one of the older lads asked, suspicion laced in his voice.

“I was there, lad,” the man said grinning. “I saw it all. _All of it_.”

The older lad shifted on his feet, but still he asked, “Well, who are you, then?”

“Who am I?” the man asked, his eyes widening. “Why, I’m Billy Bones, I am.”

And then the brown-eyed man grinned at his audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was considering bumping the rating of this one up a notch, would that be all right for everyone?


	3. Chapter 3

Billy sat and stared up at the night sky. It was a clear night and he could almost feel the ice forming on the deck. The lads would be busy later making sure the sails were loose and no ice had built up in the wrong places, but for now, he simply stared up at the stars and listened to the sound of the waves as they hit the sides of the hull.

They’d been at sea for three weeks and he’d been accepted as one of the crew with an ease that unnerved him. He had a feeling that the captain suspected Billy wasn’t all he said he was, but he wasn’t about to let a man of Billy’s experience go. The captain was a decent enough man and the lads were all old enough to know about the rebellion in Nassau, but not first hand. So, Billy kept his mouth shut and his mind on the sails and the ship.

And her.

Abigail fucking Ashe. Older than she’d been when he first met her, but just as solemn and as well-bred. He’d wondered about her after seeing her with Flint and the Barlow woman; he’d wondered what it was she’d written in that journal and when he’d had the chance to read it, her insights had surprised him. It had been some time since anyone from the upper classes had surprised him, but she had. She’d done what very few had done before – look at him and his brothers as men; as human beings capable of a myriad of emotions and motivations, not just as monsters hellbent on anarchy.

But then she was off the warship, deposited into her father’s hands, and she’d faded from his mind like so much flotsam on the waves.

Until now.

He shifted where he sat on a barrel tucked away in a corner on the deck and rubbed at his bearded chin. She was clearly running from something or someone, to be so desperate to take on an assumed name and travel all alone with no companion. Christ, she’d been fucking lucky to land on a ship where the captain and the crew were decent and not prone to… Well, she was fucking lucky, that’s all he had to say on the matter.

He knew he’d be better off if he just ignored her and treated her with civility but nothing more; and that had been his aim. But then she’d just appeared the other night, and he hadn’t been able to refrain from speaking to her. And then he just had to move close to her and she smelled of something that he couldn’t quite place. Something clean and sweet; something distinctly…English. Flashes of his mother and kind shop women flashed in his mind as he’d stood behind her. 

Once again he scrubbed a hand over his chin and cursed himself for a fool. Talking to a lady about still points and stars as though he were anything other than a god damn pirate; what had he been thinking?

 _No more_ , he thought as he lightly thudded his head against the wall. _No more._

But even as he thought about keeping his distance, he heard a light tread of feet rapidly approaching.

Abigail.

He watched as she headed straight to the same spot as the other night and noticed how she was breathing. Her chest rose and fell sharply and she kept swallowing, as though she could hold back her emotions by swallowing them down. It was clear that she’d been dreaming again, her colour was high and her eyes were wet. She bowed her head over the rail, and his eyes traced the curve of her cheek in the moonlight. After several long moments, she lifted her head and he could tell she was seeking out the stars he’d shown her. Once found, he watched as her posture eased, her hands loosened their tight grip on the railing and she closed her eyes, letting the wind lightly buffet her face and her hair.

After a brief, terse argument with himself about keeping his distance from this woman, Billy spoke to her from his spot in the shadows, “If you look high up and to the right, there’s two lines of stars that curve up and come to a point.”

At the sound of his voice, her head had turned to the side as her lips curved up, but she didn’t look for him, just turned back to the stars. After a moment of looking, she pointed and asked, “Those?”

He stepped out of the shadows and drew up close to her, he tilted his head to match her height and followed the line of her arm. 

“That’s it,” he said breathing in that sweet scent of her. “She’s always high in the sky this time of year.”

“Andromeda,” she breathed, lowering her arm. “Perseus rescued her from the sea monster using the Gorgon’s head, turning the monster to stone. Andromeda then went with Perseus on his adventures.” She turned up to look at him and smiled. “My teachers always said she went with him because she had to, as payment for saving her life. However, my mother always said that she went with him to see the world.”

He smiled down at her, ignoring the thoughts in his head that yelled for him to walk away. “She sounds nice, your mother.”

“She was,” Abigail said turning away to look up at the stars. “I often wonder if my father would not have acted as he did had she been alive. She listened to him.” She sighed. “But then again, perhaps he would have ignored her in favour of money and power; as he ignored me.”

“He ignored you?” Billy asked.

She turned to him and he almost took a step back at the flash of her eyes. 

“I was there,” she said through gritted teeth. “The night Lady Hamilton was murdered. I saw it happen. She was shot down in cold blood after discovering that my father had betrayed her. Betrayed her and her husband and Captain Flint.” She shook her head, her mouth downturned and her eyes angry and sad. “I never blamed any of you for what you did later. Never. My father brought that upon himself for refusing to tell the truth.”

In that moment, it occurred to Billy that this tiny young woman was an extremely dangerous person and could inflict serious damage upon his soul should he let her get close enough. She was far stronger than any of them had supposed and he was thrilled to see it, as well as, quite frankly, fucking terrified of it. There was so much more to this woman than kindness and sweet smelling skin; and for all his sins, he was greatly tempted to learn more.

He swallowed hard. “You hold the truth to be important?”

“Don’t you?” she asked frowning at him before she blushed. “Although, I suppose you’re right to question my beliefs, as everyone on board calls me by a name that’s not my own.”

“They do the same to me,” he said leaning against rail and looking out over the sea. “But it’s just a name. Hell, the name you know me by wasn’t even my real name, either.”

“I know,” she said. He looked over at her and she bit her lip and looked worried.

“How could--? Ah, wait,” he said chuckling and some of the resentment that he usually managed to hold in check bubbled up. “Captain fucking Flint. He told you, did he?”

“Yes,” she whispered, looking down. “He told me that you were taken off the street when you were a boy and impressed into service.” 

She paused and he said, “Go on. What else did he say?”

“He said you killed the man who captured you,” she said, her voice a near whisper, but steady in the dark.

“I did,” Billy said. “I ran him through with a dirty cutlass. I watched him die and my only regret is that I wasn’t able to do it sooner.” He looked down at her only to realize that she was looking at him with eyes filled with… “Are you angry at me?” he asked his face twisted into a sneer as his resolve to be civil fled. “That I took someone’s life? If that’s the case, you’re going to be angry for some time yet, Miss _Pemberton_. I’ve taken many a man’s life. These hands have run red with blood. The things I could tell you-“

“I’m not angry with you,” she said blinking up at him, her mouth downturned. “I’m angry at what was done to you. I’m not… I’m very aware of the things you’ve done. Of what you’ve had to do. I’m very sorry for it.” She hesitated again before she shook her head. “Why would I be angry with you?”

He stared at her, completely at a loss and he blurted out, “I gave your journal to Charles Vane.”

It was her turn to stare at him. Her eyes clouded over with confusion, then they cleared and she straightened. 

“You read what I wrote?” she asked.

“I did.”

“I see.” She looked up at the stars. “I meant it. Everything I wrote about the crew. You’re just men at the end of the day. And once upon a time, my father would have agreed with me. He _did_ agree with me.” She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “Once upon a time.” She looked at him and furrowed her brow as she said, “I always wondered if it had been you to take my journal. I knew one of you must have done.”

“I’m sorry,” he said tearing his gaze from her to look out over the ocean, only to look back at her when she chuckled.

“No, you’re not,” she said smiling a little while she shook her head. “You did what needed to be done. I was only ever a pawn in the whole matter; I hardly counted for more than that in anyone’s eyes, let alone yours.” She lifted her chin and he watched as her spine became a perfect line, as though it was lined with the strongest of steel. “I no longer want to be a pawn.”

He stared at her and then said, “Do you know, this whole time I figured you were running from something. But you’re not. You’re running _to_ something.”

She looked at him and with a smile that reached her eyes and eased something inside him, she replied, “Perhaps. In truth, it’s really more like a bit of both.” Her smile dimmed and she cocked her head to the side, she said, “But it’s not the same for you, is it? You’re not running to anything. You’re just…running.”

Billy’s heart thrummed in his chest and his hands shook before he clenched them into fists as he stared at her. Thoughts flew through his mind. Wild thoughts. Thoughts that said to flee, to stay, to touch her, to throw himself overboard, to—

A loud crash had them both jumping, Billy whirled around, his hand going to his short sword and pulling it free of the scabbard in less than a heartbeat while he pushed Abigail behind him.

But it was just Timms, who cursed as he righted a coil of heavy rope that he’d knocked over in the dark.

Billy watched him for a moment, then slowly straightened and returned his sword to its place on his belt. He glanced behind him to see Abigail staring up at him with those dark eyes of hers. Billy felt leagues out of his depth as he stared at her.

“Better get back to bed, Miss Pemberton,” he said, keeping his voice low. “New shift’ll be on deck soon. Get some sleep while you can.”

Frowning, she nodded, but before she left him, she tentatively touched his hand and said, “I hope you find something to run to, Mr Gates. No one should be without purpose in this life.”

Billy watched her go and when she disappeared below deck, he closed his eyes and tried to calm his still thrumming heart.

“No more,” he whispered. “No more, my lad. You stay away from her, Billy.”

With a scrub of his face with his hand, he headed off to find something to occupy him until sunrise.

* * *

Billy stood just off to the side as he watched Martin, the quartermaster, play his fiddle like he was born to it. A smile hovered just at the edge of Billy’s mouth when two of the crew members started to sing along and stomp their feet in time to Martin’s playing. Soon, both crew and passengers were clapping and laughing when another set of lads started to dance a reel of some sort, their feet happily pounding the deck. He glanced up at the captain, who grinned as he looked over them. Billy couldn’t remember the last time he saw a captain truly at ease with his lot in life, but considering who Billy had been crewing with over the last few years, that had to be expected.

The back of his neck prickled and he fought the urge to look behind him, knowing that nothing would be there. He may have gotten others to believe in ghosts, but he didn’t believe in them himself; he never had. The prickling was just something he’d have to get used to. Someone, at some time, would come looking for him for some mad reason or another and he was...at peace with that.

To tell the truth, he was surprised that none of the crew on the _Eloise_ had twigged onto him, but it appeared his secret was safe with him.

And her.

His eyes found Abigail Ashe easily. They always seemed to find her easily these days. Always sewing or reading or simply staring out at the endless waves, Billy always knew precisely where she was. At that moment, she was standing beside the family from Pennsylvania who were headed back to Ireland. The wife and Abigail sometimes sew together and they seemed to have struck up some kind of friendship or whatever it was that women did when thrown together. The little boy clapped his hands in front of them and then with a look at Abigail, he stopped and turned to her.

She ceased clapping and peered down at the little boy with an open expression that quickly turned into a bright smile as she nodded. Then she held out a hand and curtsied to the little boy who bowed.

Then they were away and Billy snorted at the awkward steps the lad took while Abigail just laughed and gently corrected the lad. Soon enough, they were circling the deck while the crew cheered and stomped. The lad’s parents laughed and something ached in Billy’s chest. Absently he rubbed at a spot just beneath his pounding heart and turned away from the happy scene. He caught the captain’s eye and nodded when the man nodded at him as Billy headed below decks. He was on the late night shift later and he needed to catch some sleep while he could. But when he lay in his hammock and closed his eyes, all he saw was Abigail’s warm brown eyes and swirling skirts. 

He wasn’t a man given to self-pity, but he could admit that there was a part of him that fairly itched to go find her and take her hands and see what it felt like to spin around the deck, carefree and in receipt of her smiles. But he wouldn’t. He’s far too practical for that. Connecting with people got him in trouble in the first place and he wouldn’t be making that mistake again. He’d already let this ‘familiarity’, for lack of a better word, with Abigail Ashe go too far as it was. 

Two conversations he’s had with her in the moonlight and he was unsettled in a way he couldn’t ever recall being before. He wondered if she was the same kind of witch he’d heard the Barlow woman had been for Flint; able to see into a man’s soul and pluck out their most vulnerable desires. Her parting words for him the other night hadn’t left his thoughts since.

_I hope you find something to run to, Mr Gates. No one should be without purpose in this life._

He stared up at the wooden beams that vibrated from the stomping feet above and knew she was right and for a moment, he hated her for it. He hated that somehow she knew that he needed purpose to his actions for them to hold meaning. He hated that she had found the one thing that lurked in the back of his mind, the thing that had stirred him out of that tavern in Savannah and got him moving. 

Billy Bones longed for a cause. He always had and he feared he always would.

God damn it.

He rubbed his eyes and let out a groan.

Something fell on his chest. He opened his eyes to see a small flask and craned his head to look over at the man who’d thrown it.

Jeffers, an old grizzled sod of a man, just grinned at him. “Drink up, Gates. Get some sleep and stop moaning about life.”

“That your sage advice, old man?” Billy asked, arching an eyebrow and snorting a bit.

“That it is,” Jeffers said with a wink. “How else do you think I made it this far? Sure as hell wasn’t by luck.”

“Or skill,” Billy muttered, but he opened the flask and took a drink. Then another. The rum was sweet and felt like candy on his tongue. 

He made to toss the flask back to Jeffers, but the old man shook his head. “Nah, looks like you need it more’n me. ‘Sides, I know where to get more.”

“Ta,” Billy said raising the flask.

“Remember, if you’re too busy drinking, you won’t waste time thinking,” Jeffers said before cackling like an old woman as he headed to the galley.

“Mad old bastard,” Billy said, but he took another long pull and then another, and another and let the alcohol dull his senses. Eventually, he capped the flask and, despite the dancing and the music above his head, he fell asleep.

He woke in time for his shift and crawled out of his hammock with a groan. He grabbed the flask and tucked it into his belt before he headed above deck.

It was another clear night and after he secured the rigging and got things in order, he retreated to his usual space in the shadows. A cold breeze rippled over the deck and fluttered the sails and Billy gritted his teeth against it and opened the flask and took a drink.

The rum went a fair way to clearing his mind of any persistent, unwanted thoughts, but he was a large man and he’d need a hell of a lot more rum to make them disappear entirely, so he leaned back and stared up at the night sky.

He smelled her before he saw her. That light scent ( _A flower of some kind, wasn’t it? It wasn’t tropical, it was something else, he knew it, he just couldn’t place it…_ ) drifted on the wind and then he heard her footsteps. But they weren’t hurried or frantic as they’d been in the past. No, they were measured and steady and…

Fuck, she _wanted_ to be out here. She _deliberately_ came out here.

Billy’s heart beat faster in his chest and he took another drink before he stilled and waited for her to appear at the railing.

Her legs were bare and like before, she wore no corset, just her dress and her underclothes. Her hair was loosely tied back with a ribbon and Billy ached all over. Every inch of him just fucking _burned_.

He took another drink, his eyes opened the whole time as he watched her.

Her head tilted back as she looked up at the sky and he wondered what kind of spell she’d cast to make him burn so hot.

“Those three stars, all in a line,” she said, her voice hesitant even as she pointed. “Orion, the great hunter. Destined to chase, oh what was it, a scorpion, I think, across the night sky for all eternity. My father pointed him out once when I was a child. It’s the only one I know, actually.” She sighed. “It always struck me as rather sad. All these stories of these incredible people who did incredible things only to be placed in the night sky to repeat their actions night after night. It makes me wonder if that’s simply a reflection of us mortals here on earth. Are we also destined to repeat our actions, be they good or bad, until we die?”

Billy realized that he hadn’t breathed while she spoke and he exhaled as he got to his feet. He knew he shouldn’t, every single instinct in him told him to turn the fuck away from this woman who saw too much and who he’d give everything to if she asked him, but his body ignored him and came to stand behind her.

“I don’t know,” he said, his voice pitched low and his breath stirred the hair atop her head and he felt a burst of pride when she shivered. “Perhaps it is. Eventually, we might get it right.”

“Hmmm. I think that’s partly why I took someone else’s name,” she said. “To escape the path that everyone seemed so certain I was to take.”

“Is that the only reason?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I—“

“Wait.” He slid a hand around her waist and pulled her to his chest, his palm flat on her ribs. “Quiet.”

She’d gasped when he touched her, but she fell silent and Billy squinted into the darkness. Then he called, “Timms! Snuff out the lantern.”

“Aye,” Timms said somewhere down towards the stern. “What do you see?”

“Another ship, port side,” Billy called. 

“Where?” Abigail whispered.

“See where the sky goes too dark at the horizon,” he murmured beside her ear. “Where the stars disappear?”

“Oh. Yes!”

“That’s it.”

Billy stood there in the darkness, his arm tight around her as he watched the other ship. He didn’t think they spotted the _Eloise_ , but it couldn’t hurt to sail as silently as possible. The crew was a decent one, but none of them would be much good against a ship bent on violence. He watched the other ship as it sailed on and eventually, Billy relaxed.

“All clear,” he called to Timms when the ship had moved well out of their sight.

“Should we worry?” she asked looking up at him. “Are we in danger?”

He shook his head. “Nah. She was too small to do much damage, most likely cargo.”

“Good,” she said breathing out as she smiled a little.

He made to say something, and shifted his hand where it splayed across her ribcage and he felt something odd. Her eyes widened as he pressed and something hidden in her shift crinkled under his palm. Something like papers. Pink flooded her cheeks, but she stayed quiet, merely lifted her chin as she held his gaze.  
“Keeping your secrets close to you, Miss Pemberton?” he asked, his voice low as his hand pressed against the papers once more.

“Don’t we all, _Mr Gates_?” she replied, arching an eyebrow as she emphasized his name.

He smirked a little and dropped his hand as he took a step back, but kept his eyes on her the entire time. She breathed a sigh of relief but shivered as he moved away.

“Cold?” he asked.

“A bit,” she said. “I suppose I’d better get used to it, however. England is far colder than the Americas.”

“Yeah,” Billy said turning away to grab the flask. He took a sip and then handed it to her.

She eyed it, then with a sniff, she gingerly took it from him. Her nose wrinkled as she lifted it to her lips, but gamely, she took a drink. He chuckled as she made a face, and he continued to grin as she took another sip before she handed it back to him.

“You like rum?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” she said wiping her mouth. “But perhaps Mariah Pemberton does.”

“Yeah,” he said draining the last of the flask.

“I never took you for a man who favoured spirits,” she said.

“I’m not,” Billy said. “But it appears Mr Gates is.” He met her eyes. “At least he is today.”

She nodded. “Abigail Ashe would never have found herself stitching men’s trousers, but Mariah seems to have no problem with the task.” She held up a hand and smiled at her index finger. “She’s even developing a thicker skin than Abigail.”

Billy, before he could consider the action fully, reached out and took her hand in his. He pulled her hand to him and as a result Abigail had to step closer. He looked at her finger and rubbed his thumb over the developing callous on her finger, the skin hardening due to the repeated prick of a needle. 

A breeze stirred her hair around her face and it tickled his arms, that fresh scent filled his nose.

“What is it you smell of?” he asked, his brow furrowing and his voice soft. “It reminds me of England and I cannot place it.”

“I don’t… Is it the rose water I use?” she replied, her own brow crinkling and she curled her fingers in his hand. “I’ve tried to use it sparingly as I don’t have very much left in the bottle.”

“Roses,” he repeated with a small laugh. “Of course. You smell of roses, Miss Pemberton.” He lifted his eyes from her small hand to meet her wide eyes. “Billy Bones would never stand thus with a lady and comment upon her scent.”

“No?” she replied looking up at him, her voice barely a whisper on the wind.

He stood, utterly arrested by her. The dark of her eyes drew him in and he wondered, if this was something Billy Bones would never have done, what would Gates have done in this situation?

The answer was clear as the night sky. 

Billy bent his head and covered her mouth with his own.

Her lips were soft and her hand came up to rest against his chest as he moved his mouth over hers. He felt awkward and too large but when she made the slightest noise of pleasure as her body rose to meet his, he groaned and his hands lifted to cup her face.

He kissed her again and again, pressing his lips to hers while one hand slid to cradle her skull. He flicked his tongue against her lower lip and her mouth opened on a gasp. She was so warm and soft _everywhere_. Her hair tangled between his fingers and a rough breeze blew her skirts to buffet against his legs and she shivered as his tongue slid against hers.

With another groan, he bent slightly to slide his arm beneath her bottom and he carried her over to the barrel in the shadows. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders, then slid up his throat to dance along his jaw as they kissed over and over. He felt the callus of her finger as she traced the curve of his ear and he bent to nuzzle her throat, his tongue moving over the tendons under her lovely, pale skin. Her head fell back as she breathed in and out, her chest moving in a wonderful way under her dress. The crinkle of her secret papers made him smile as he found her earlobe and he pulled her lobe gently into his mouth.

She shuddered and made the smallest of surprised noises that went straight to his groin. Christ, he wanted her to make that noise again.

His hand smoothed down her side, his thumb grazed the side of her breast as he felt the curve of her. He reached the flare of her hip and ran his hand under her thigh as his mouth found hers once more. She pressed up against him as she met every one of his kisses with as much fervour as he bestowed them.

His wandering hand slipped beneath her skirt and his palm met the bare flesh of her calve, the back of her knee, the incredible softness of her thigh. He shifted her leg slightly to the side and stepped in close, his groin pressed tight against the apex of her thighs.

She froze. Her hands stilled on his neck and her lips trembled beneath his.

Breathing hard, Billy lifted his head to look at her. Even in the moonlight, he could see her cheeks were red and her eyes were luminous and...apprehensive.

“I’m sorry,” he said as his hold on her gentled, but not letting her go completely.

She shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t think I could stand it if you were sorry. It’s only that… I’m afraid I don’t really know what happens next.” She flushed and made a face. “Well, I know what happens next, but not the precise actions. Oh, dear. I sound ridiculous.”

“You sound like an intelligent being who likes to know what they’re doing before they do it,” he said chuckling a little. He winced as he shifted on his feet, mentally ordering his erection to subside, as he looked up at the sky and then back down at her. “I’m not sorry I kissed you. But I am sorry that I...took advantage.”

“You didn’t,” she said smiling at him and cupping his jaw. “If you had, you wouldn’t have stopped.”

“Still, you’re a lady,” he continued, but stopped when she laughed and shook her head. “What?”

“I’m not,” she said, smiling a little sadly. “Well, the title may still be there, but the money certainly isn’t.” She pressed her hand to her bodice where the paper crinkled between them. “They stripped my father of his lands and his money after Charles Towne. There was some that should have come to me, but my guardians,” her mouth twisted slightly, “took it before my majority.” She took a deep breath. “For my own good, naturally.”

“But,” Billy frowned. “Surely you have...something?”

“I do,” she said lifting her chin. “I had suspected for some time that my guardians were hiding my post from me. I made a point of rising early enough and bribing the footman to bring me anything addressed to me. A letter came from me from my mother’s solicitor in England. Before she died, she and my father had put aside a very small plot of land that had been left to her by an uncle who has long since passed. This land was left to me.” She smiled. “It’s located near the Welsh border in Herefordshire and is apparently only suited for sheep, but it’s mine. I can even claim to have some distant relations in the area.” She shook her head. “So you see, I’m no longer Lady Abigail Ashe who is returning to England with an immaculate reputation and a generous dowry. I’m simply a woman travelling to a bit of earth that may or may not provide enough of an income to exist upon.”

Billy could only stare at her and marvel at her strength and determination. He was filled with admiration and not a little envy. He remembered what it felt like to have a purpose; to have a goal.

“I envy you,” he said, admitting his thoughts aloud to her. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” she said. “I haven’t the faintest idea what to do with sheep, apart from serving them with mint sauce.”

He snorted and she grinned a little as she giggled.

“I wasn’t referring to the sheep,” he said tucking a few strands of her hair behind her ears. “You were right the other night, when you said that no one should be without purpose.” He shook his head. “I have none.”

“Don’t you?” she asked, her voice quiet and kind.

“Not anymore,” he said as he looked down at his hand where it cradled her cheek. “I don’t even have my own name.”

“You have your mind,” she said running the pads of her fingers over his brow. “And you have your heart. Those are two things no one can take from you; no matter what you’re called.”

He couldn’t help himself, he leaned forward and captured her mouth with his once more. Her fingers curled against his scalp and he pulled her as close as he could and tried not to just mindlessly rut against her.

Eventually they parted and he pressed his mouth to her forehead. “You need to get back to your cabin, Abigail.”

“I know,” she said, her palm rested over his heart. “When I wake in the morning, will this have been nothing but a dream?”

Billy considered her words and then shook his head. “No. I have no wish to forget touching you.” He tilted her face to meet her eyes. “And I have no wish for you to forget it either.”

“As if I could,” she said a bit wryly.

He grinned and then lifted her easily off the barrel and set her on her feet. “You’d better go, before I decide to see what else Mr Gates would do with a young lady in the moonlight.”

“I know that you mean that as some kind of threat,” she said stepping close to him and rising up on her tiptoes. “But it really feels more like a promise.”

She kissed his lips quickly and was away before he could reply. 

Billy stood in the darkness and then he turned to lean against the railing. And try as he might, he couldn’t make himself regret _anything_ he’d done.

He grinned up at the stars and then headed off to work.

* * *

Mr DeGroot was more than willing to admit that he had managed to get to his advanced age with a good deal of applied skills and luck. He’d survived the Nassau rebellion, Captain fucking Flint, Long John fucking Silver, and a dozen other mad men and all he wanted to do before he shuffled off this particular mortal coil was drink and fish.

Which was why he remained in Nassau even after all the violence had passed and the former _Walrus_ crew had disbanded and either died or set off for other waters. People in Nassau still needed to eat and Mr DeGroot was a fair fisherman, if he did say so himself. Plus, people had overlooked him the majority of his life, and they continued to do so now.

However, he found himself in something of a moral quandary one night as he indulged in a pint at the tavern in Nassau. He drank steadily as he listened and watched as a man of decent height told story after story about the deadly _Walrus_ crew and Captain fucking Flint and Long John fucking Silver as though he’d witnessed such events himself.

He hadn’t.

Mr DeGroot had never seen this man before in his life, but he kept his counsel and just watched as the man drew a decent crowd with his stories as well as drink after drink.

Now, Mr DeGroot had no problem with someone telling tall tales; hell, that’s what half of piracy was made out of – making god damn sure that your bloodthirsty reputation preceded you. So, Mr DeGroot didn’t mind this man telling tales.

What he _did_ mind was the fact that he did it under a name that was most certainly not his own.

Mr DeGroot’s vision may have been worsening with age, but the man telling stories was sure as fuck not Billy Bones.

He watched and stewed in his moral quandary and considered whether or not he needed to speak up and denounce the charlatan for what he was, which was a liar and a thief. (Mr DeGroot had no proof of the latter, but if a man was willing to steal another man’s name, he probably didn’t feel remorse about stealing a change purse.)

Eventually, Mr DeGroot decided that this was none of his lookout and finished his pint before he headed back to the docks.

However, he paused just outside the tavern and looked back at the man whose brown eyes seemed to flash every now and then with something Mr DeGroot recognized as pure madness.

“May God have mercy on your poor mad soul,” Mr DeGroot muttered. “Especially if Billy Bones ever finds you.” He paused. “Even more especially if Long John fucking Silver finds you first.”

His hands washed of the whole thing, Mr DeGroot headed to the docks and wondered if he should find another island that needed a capable fisherman. Nassau had too many memories that just wouldn’t fucking die.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like there will be another two chapters after this one and I'm already at work on them. I hope you enjoy the latest!

“Ouch!”

Abigail pulled her finger from under the thick fabric she was mending to put her recently pricked finger in her mouth.

“Good heavens, Miss Pemberton,” Mrs Porter said giving her a funny look. “That’s the third time you’ve done that this morning, something on your mind?”

“No, no,” Abigail said smiling a little. “Just…didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“Oh, I understand. I cannot wait to be on dry land again,” Mrs Porter said before she launched into her usual complaints about sea travel.

Abigail tuned her out for the most part. However, she had to admit that the other woman had been correct, something was most certainly on Abigail’s mind.

Said something was a very tall, very tan, very inscrutable man who could turn all of Abigail’s thoughts and plans and insides into pure jelly. It was an attraction wrapped up in shared confidences and she truly didn’t know what to do with any of it.

It wasn’t just the kisses they’d shared, she told herself. Well, it wasn’t _just_ the kisses they’d shared. It was the way he looked at her as though she was someone to listen to, someone who mattered. It shook her deeply and in some ways, it frightened her. She’d been the focal point of a man’s madness before and while this was nothing like that experience, Abigail felt terribly out of her depth.

She also feared that she’d be quite willing to give up a great deal if he asked her to.

Which he most likely wouldn’t, but the thought worried her all the same.

“Miss Pemberton?”

Abigail came back to herself and met Mrs Porter’s concerned gaze. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, my dear, whatever is the matter?” Mrs Porter asked, setting her own mending down. “You looked a hundred miles away. Are you well?”

“Yes, I’m fine, truly,” she said as she tried to smile. “My mind is simply occupied with thoughts.”

“You’re worried about meeting this new family of yours, aren’t you?” Mrs Porter said nodding. “Well, family’s family, is what I always say. You’re a nice, respectable, quiet young woman, they’ll welcome you with open arms.”

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Abigail said, uneasy with the compliments. “It isn’t meeting them that’s worrying me.”

“Ah, the land,” Mrs Porter said. “Well, my dear, I’m sure the menfolk will have it in hand.”

Abigail frowned. “I want to learn, however. It’s in my name, surely I should have some input.”

“I hardly think they’ll let you get a word in edgewise,” Mrs Porter said a bit wryly. “Men tend to take charge in these matters. And especially as you’re coming to them on your own, with no knowledge of the lay of the land, so to speak, I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you in persuading them to let you assist.”

Abigail paused, her needle halfway through the material. The idea that her family wouldn’t listen to her hadn’t occurred to her. She nearly rolled her eyes at herself. Of course, they wouldn’t listen to her. As far as they knew, she was only a spoiled young woman who had left potential prospects in America after her father was murdered by pirates. They’d never met her, and had most likely never known her mother after she had grown.

Panic and despair filled Abigail’s chest and she struggled to maintain her composure as her uncertainty burned behind her eyes.

“Now,” Mrs Porter continued utterly unaware of Abigail’s distress, “It’d be a different matter if you had a husband.”

“Would it?” Abigail replied a bit dully.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “You know how men are. Only ever listen to other men even when it’s us women who often know the way of things.” She glanced up at Abigail. “You need a husband, Miss Pemberton if you want to get anything done your way.”

Abigail stared at her and then said, “I…don’t think that’s likely to happen.”

“Nonsense!” Mrs Porter said smiling and patting her hand. “You’re a lovely young girl. A bit too independent, yes, but some men like that.” Her gaze went a bit distant. “Mine certainly does.”

“You’re very lucky,” Abigail said softly. 

“And don’t I know it,” Mrs Porter said, she glanced at Abigail and she tutted. “Oh, I don’t mean to worry you, dear. But you know how people need to see a man before they can even think of seeing the woman?”

“Yes,” Abigail said with a sigh. “Yes, I’m afraid I do know that.”

“And being married not such a bad thing, you know,” Mrs Porter said. “I can say with some certainty that there are some lovely aspects to the entire institution.”

Abigail tried to hide her smile. “Mrs Porter, I believe you’re simply teasing me at this point.”

“It’s a married woman’s prerogative,” she replied winking at her and Abigail couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her. Mrs Porter joined in and that was how Mr Porter and their son found them a few moments later, still giggling over their mending.

“Uh oh,” he said grinning. “When two females are carrying on like that, it usually spells trouble.”

“And here I thought that was your name,” Mrs Porter said smiling up at him as he chuckled and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

Abigail ducked her head, still smiling as the family chatted amongst themselves, their son happily showed his mother the knots he’d learned to tie. The worry from earlier returned to Abigail’s chest, along with a longing that seeing the Porters together only amplified. 

She hadn’t even considered marriage, let alone a marriage like the one the Porters enjoyed; one of laughter and affection. But now that Mrs Porter had planted the seed in her mind, Abigail longed for companionship. Billy’s face flashed in her mind. Her skin tingled as she recalled how his hands had lifted her as though she weighed nothing, how his mouth had moved over hers, how he pitched his voice low when he spoke to her, and how he listened as though she was someone worth hearing.

She shook her head as she frowned and ignored the pang of envy at the familiar ease the Porters had with one another. Whatever it was that was occurring between herself and Billy, it most likely wouldn’t lead to what the Porters had. The last thing that Billy Bones would ever do was propose marriage to her. She had to put that particular idea out of her head.

No, she’d carry on as she’d intended and simply hope that her family would be more open-minded than Mrs Porter posited.

As she mended and did her best not to stab her finger anymore, she wondered if she’d ever come to believe herself.

* * *

Abigail stepped out of her cabin and walked up the stairs to the deck on silent, slippered feet. She hadn’t spoken to Billy since the night he kissed her, but he’d found her eyes earlier and nodded ever so slightly.

While she wasn’t exactly well-versed in the ways of secret rendezvous, she threw caution to the wind and hoped that nod meant to find him later that night.

She crept towards the railing that she’d come to consider her own, but before she could reach it, a strong arm stole around her waist and pulled her into the shadows.

With a gasp, she turned and smiled when she saw it was him. He barely smiled himself before he kissed her. She rose up on her tiptoes and cupped his face in her hands. His beard tickled her palms and she hummed against his lips.

“This is a horrible idea,” he murmurs.

“I know,” she murmurs back. “I never used to make horrible ideas. I find I’m quite enjoying this one, though.”

He chuckled into her mouth before he lifted her to sit on the barrel as he’d done the other night. This time, she didn’t flinch when his hand curled around her waist and tugged her close. His mouth pressed kisses against her cheek and then down the length of her throat and Abigail let her head fall back as he moved. She had no idea anything could feel like this. Her heart beat so fast and her pulse pounded in her ears, she worried the entire ship would feel it.

He lifted his head and pressed his forehead to hers, lazily she opened her eyes to find him staring intently at her. She blinked and cupped his cheek.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I’ve…” He swallowed. “I’ve never felt anything as soft as you.” He lifted a hand and slid it alongside her cheek. “As smooth as you.” His eyes darkened. “As fucking sweet as you.”

His mouth descended on hers once more and she was swept away. There was a difference to this kiss. She felt it in the way his mouth moved roughly over hers, the way his fingers dug into her sides. It felt dark and possessive and heaven help her…she wanted more.

Her head fell back once again with a gasp and she clutched him to her as his lips trailed along her throat. She felt the slightest sting of his teeth along her skin and her legs rose to curl around his hips without her meaning to. He rocked against her and she bit her lip to hold in the mad sounds that threatened to emerge from behind her teeth. 

His mouth found hers again and he swallowed the sounds with his kiss and all Abigail could do was hold on.

All of a sudden, he stilled and his hands tightened painfully on her waist. She stared up at him when he lifted his head and stared at the darkness.

She heard someone heading their way, whistling cheerfully.

Billy held a finger up to his lips and she nodded, then he slipped away, out of the shadows. She pressed trembling fingers to her lips and closed her eyes as she tried to calm her breathing.

“Gates,” a light voice called. “Didn’t know you were on watch?”

“Timms,” Billy replied. “I’m not. Just needed some air.”

“I hear you,” the other man said and Abigail heard the strike of a match. “Think that storm’s going to come to pass, or will it skirt by us?”

“Think we’ve outrun it by now,” Billy said. “But we’re getting closer to England, we’ll be feeling the gales soon enough. They’re enough of a challenge without the rain.”

“Your mouth to God’s ears,” Timms said chuckling.

Abigail remained as still as she could while the other men chatted about the winds and wondered how long it would be before she could move.

“Saw you talking to Givens earlier,” Billy said. “Lad looked troubled. Anything to worry about?”

“Nah,” Timms said before puffing on his pipe. “The lad’s worried about going back to England. Been awhile since he’s been there and he was worried about the gangs coming after him again.”

Abigail closed her eyes and could practically feel the tension and anger in the pause Billy gave before he said, “He was impressed?”

“Half the younger lads onboard were,” Timms said. “Told Givens not to worry, that he had a place with this crew, he’d be looked after. Didn’t even have to go ashore if he didn’t want to.”

“Good of you,” Billy said and she pictured him with narrowed eyes and jaw clenched. “Not all of them make it to a good crew.”

“Speaking from experience, eh?” Timms said and when Billy didn’t answer, he continued, “Yeah, well, I was lucky enough to choose this life. The lads that don’t get that. Christ, they’re half-starved, feral little things once the Navy’s done their worst.”

“It’ll carry on,” Billy said. “While Spain continues to rattle their sabres, England’ll keep stealing boys off the street to fill the ranks. Fuck, has no one stood up against it yet?”

“Who’s going to take on the Royal fucking Navy?” Timms asked. “Nah, a revolt’ll only get you dead bodies in the street. And who the fuck listens to rabble like us? Things’ll only change when you get the lords and whatnot on our side. People with land and money. And good fucking luck to that.”

“Yeah,” Billy said quietly. “Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed,” Timms said. “Reckon you’ve seen your fair share of violence in the streets, yeah?”

“Too much,” he replied. “Starting to think there has to be a better way, but fuck if I know what that is.”

“Well, when you figure out how to get the lofty sorts to listen to us lower classes, you let me know,” Timms said. “I got a word or two I’d like to share with them.”

“You’ll be the first I tell,” Billy said chuckling.

“Better go relieve Carter before the man starts whinging,” Timms said. “Good night to you, Gates. And to you, Miss Pemberton.”

Abigail froze and then called back softly, “Good night, Mr Timms.”

She heard something that may have been Timms clapping Billy on the shoulder, but she was too busy squeezing her eyes shut in a daze of embarrassment and amusement.

Eventually, she felt Billy come close and she looked up at him. Luckily, he looked more amused than concerned.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Are you?” she replied.

“My reputation isn’t the one that’ll suffer here, Abigail,” he said lightly touching her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“No, it’ll be Miss Pemberton’s,” she said smiling a little. “I’m all right, Billy.”

He sighed and nodded, before looking away.

“It bothers you,” she said. “The fact that they still impress young boys.”

“I’d almost forgotten it was still something that happened,” he said frowning. “Isn’t that fucking terrible of me?”

“I imagine you’ve had your mind full of other terrible things these past years,” she said sliding off the barrel. “What will you do? When we reach England?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought that far. Find another ship, maybe. Head east.” He winced and his hands flexed at his side. “I can’t start another war, Abigail. I can’t.”

“No one is saying that you have to,” she said placing a hand on one of his fists. 

“I know,” he said looking at her. “But who’s going to speak for them?”

She had no answer and just stood there, her hand on his for several long moments. After awhile, he cupped her hand and lifted it to his mouth where he pressed his lips to her palm and breathed in.

“Roses,” he murmured against her skin, before he pressed a kiss to her index finger that had hardened after all her mending. “With petals made of iron.”

She laughed. “Hardly. But thank you.”

“You should go below,” he said and she nodded.

“I know.” She paused and then rose up to kiss his cheek. “You’re a good man, Billy Bones.”

The smile that crept across his face made her eyes burn with tears. “I’m not. Not at all. Don’t go thinking that I am, Abigail.”

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but he pulled her to him and crushed his lips to hers. Her head swam as he kissed her relentlessly over and over and she just did her best to weather the storm.

* * *

The following day found Abigail with absolutely no mending to do. She remained below in her bunk for a good portion of the day thinking about what she’d don when they reached England. She had some money and would find a way to get to her family’s land, but beyond that she wasn’t sure. Mrs Porter’s mention of a husband had stayed with Abigail and she worried that the other woman had a very valid point. What if her family didn’t believe her? What if they were the same type of people as the Blakes? What if…?

Abigail got to her feet and hurried from her bunk. She refused to dwell on what-if’s, they did no one any good. She emerged into sunshine and blinked at the brightness of the day. Making sure to keep out of everyone’s way, she made her way to the upper deck. The captain nodded at her and she nodded back. Eventually she found a place beside the railing and looked out over the ocean. White capped waves stretched on towards the horizon and she breathed in.

“I trust the men haven’t taken advantage of your sewing skills to excess?” a voice asked.

Abigail smiled and looked at Captain McGann who had just joined her. “Not at all. They’ve been very polite and honestly, I’m grateful to have something to do.”

He nodded as he looked at his crew hard at work. “Idle hands have never set well with me, either.”

“Your crew is very diligent,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a smooth sailing.”

“They’re a good lot,” Captain McGann said proudly, his chest puffing a little. “Some of the younger lads board with fanciful ideas of being pirates, but we put that thought out of them quickly.”

“I’m sure,” she murmured. “I understand that a number of them were impressed into service initially.”

McGann’s expression clouded. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. While I’m all for serving His Majesty, I do take strong opposition to the press gangs.” He shook his head. “Beating a lad into submission is no guarantee for loyalty.”

“I’m surprised it continues,” she said watching the men scale the rigging.

“There’s never a shortage of enemies, Miss Pemberton,” he replied. “Spain is ever on our minds. And even with the pirate rebellion subdued, that certainly doesn’t mean they no longer exist.” He smiled a little. “But this is hardly suitable conversation.”

“Of course,” she said as demurely as she could. “But, if I may, have you ever encountered any pirates?”

“Once,” he said chuckling. “They boarded, took the provisions, and left.” He shook his head. “In truth, I’ve had worse experiences with the Royal Navy.” He looked dismayed. “Miss Pemberton, you mustn’t think-“

“I think nothing of the sort, sir,” she said. “I’ve had some dealings with officers in the past; they can be very…single-minded.”

“Yes,” he said. “And excellent term.” He sighed. “It isn’t as though most captains I know haven’t considered piracy. But I’ve a family, a name, and a ship. I have something that anchors me to this world. Pirates do not.”

He lifted his head. “Ah, Mr Borden has my maps ready. Good day, Miss Pemberton.”

“Good day, captain,” she said as the man walked away.

Her gaze was inevitably drawn to the rigging and the large form of the man who occupied so much of her thoughts. He was perched on the foremast talking to a very young lad that Abigail thought could be the young Givens Mr Timms had mentioned the evening before. The young lad stared up at Billy and eventually Billy patted his shoulder. Givens nodded and then, easily shimmied down the rigging to the deck below. Abigail looked back up at Billy, who stared out at the sea. Eventually, he also swung his way back down to the deck. 

She wondered what he was thinking of and what he’d do when they reached England. He said he wasn’t ready for another war. 

Heat filled her body when she recalled his kisses from the night before, the desperation and the restrained passion she’d sensed in his hands. She worried that he’d find some dark path and simply…slip down it without even realising what he’d done. She wondered if there was anything at all she could do.

_Don’t be silly,_ she thought. _You have your own hands quite full of your own problems. Don’t go borrowing another’s simply because you like the way he looks at you. And listens to you. And touches you. Oh, you’re hopeless. Even if you wanted to help, what could you possibly offer him--_

An idea struck Abigail hard and sharp in her chest. She nearly gasped at the audacity of her mind to suggest such a thing, but… What if…?

_I thought you told yourself no more what-if’s?_ she thought. _Although, the idea could be…a good one._

Plucking up some courage, she made her way to the small passageway along the edge of the upper cabin and worried her lip.

_You’ve gone mad, Abigail Ashe_ , her mind whispered. _Stark, raving mad. Do not do this!_

When Billy appeared, she straightened and he stopped. His forehead creased with concern.

“Are you all right?” he asked coming to her, scanning the area around them.

She nodded. “Yes, I…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I have something to ask you, but I fear this isn’t the best location. Would you come to my cabin later?”

His eyes widened. “Abigail,” he breathed.

“No, not like that, I’m not propositioning you,” she said quickly, her face flaming with embarrassment. “I simply have…something to discuss. Please?”

He stared at her and then slowly nodded. “I’m on first watch, so it’ll be well after midnight before I’m free.”

“That’s fine,” she said trying to smile. “I shall see you then.”

Without another word, she slipped past him and headed back to her cabin. Once inside, she pressed her hand to her mouth and wondered what on earth she was thinking? 

“What if he says ‘no’?” she murmured aloud.

_Oh, my girl,_ her mind whispered back. _What if he says ‘yes’?_

* * *

Later that night, after a very small meal, Abigail paced in her cabin. She crossed the tiny space over and over and replayed what she would say to Billy when he arrived. She considered dozing as it would be some time before he came, but decided against it. Her nerves were strung too tightly to even contemplate sleep.

She heard the watch bells chime and froze mid-pace. Turning towards, the door, she clasped her hands together and waited.

A soft tap eventually sounded at her door and she rushed to open it. Billy came in, his expression wary and goodness, he certainly took up a great deal of room. She’d known her cabin was small, but now it seemed unbearably tiny.

“Are you well?” he asked softly, his voice low. “Has someone been bothering you?”

She shook her head. “No, no. Everything is fine. I simply…” She took a deep breath. “I have something to ask of you and I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get everything out before you say anything, is that all right?”

Still bewildered, he nodded. “Of course.”

“Very well,” she said as she stood tall and looked him in the eyes. “It has been brought to my attention that although I have honest and legal claim to whatever it is that awaits me in England, my family there may be hesitant to accept me as a woman alone. In fact, it could be supposed that they will think rather ill of me should I turn up unaccompanied on their doorstep.” She swallowed. “It has also occurred to me that while you have no desire to engage in another war, there are many things that you would like to see changed and I wondered if you’d considered alternative methods.”

He looked confused but didn’t say anything, so she continued.

“By alternative methods, I’m referring to politics,” she said, fighting the urge to throw herself upon herbed and forget she ever started this, but her courage prevailed. “If you were a landowner, you would have some degree of clout in certain decisions made and would be able to influence certain things.”

She drew a breath and lifted her chin. “I…propose a partnership. Between yourself and I.” Her courage finally dwindled and she looked down. “Marriage. Would you consider marrying me?”

Silence reigned in Abigail’s cabin. She could hear the crash of the waves against the hull and the thrum of her heart in her chest. 

Unnerved by the silence, she lowered her eyes and plucked at her skirts as she added, “It wouldn’t have to be a traditional union, if you don’t care for one. It could truly be in name only. I wouldn’t even dream of being so bold with a gentleman, but I believe there is… a measure of esteem and, um, affection between us. I…think this could be beneficial for us both.”

After another long moment, she lifted her eyes to his.

Billy stared at her with wide eyes and an unreadable expression. He cleared his throat and said, “Did… You want to marry me?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “As I said, it wouldn’t have to be a conventional marriage,” she said haltingly. “I don’t suppose you to be in love with me and I’m certainly not above admitting that I’m being incredibly selfish with this request. I have no idea what your plans are and I don’t wish to insinuate myself into them. If you wished to remain at sea, then of course, you would do as you wished. I only ask because… Well, because, you seem as adrift as I am.”

Something in his posture relaxed when she said that and something within her relaxed in response.

“Abigail,” he said as he looked down at his hands. “I’ve killed men. I’ve killed so many men. Some that deserved it and some that didn’t. I’ve betrayed people, I’ve stolen, I’ve…” He swallowed hard and lifted his eyes to hers. “I promised my brothers that I’d protect them. That I’d never betray their trust in me. And at the first chance at revenge, I betrayed them. Christ, Abigail, the things that I’ve done.” He stepped towards her and she held her ground, her head tipped back, her eyes still on his. “They’ll catch up to me in the end. Because they always do. And they’ll catch up to whoever has the bad fortune to be with me. And I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you as a result of my actions. You’ve been through too much of your own shit to have to deal with mine.”

“I see,” she said after awhile. She looked down. “I understand.”

“Fuck,” he muttered and took her hand in his. “You have to understand, there is a part of me that is aching to say ‘yes’ to this mad scheme of yours.” She lifted her head and he smiled. “A man would have to be insane to not want to say ‘yes’. And I’m many things, but I’m not mad. Well, not yet.”

“You seem to be in possession of most of your faculties,” she said as she smiled a little. “Billy, I’m not afraid. Not of your past.”

“You should be,” he said his hand tightened around hers. “You truly should be.” He closed his eyes and asked, “Would this marriage honestly help you?”

“Yes, I believe so,” she replied. “This world isn’t very accepting of a single woman attempting to do things her own way. It’s entirely possible the name alone would help. And I have no one else I’d even consider approaching with this. In truth, you’re the only man I know that I trust.”

He snorted, but didn’t release her hand. “You seem…very pragmatic about this. I always assumed ladies had more fantasies.”

“I suppose I did at one point,” she said curling her fingers around his. “When Ned Low kidnapped me, he shot everyone on the ship. Every sailor, passenger, everyone.” She closed her eyes, remembering all the screams, the cries, the smell of blood. “And then when he had me on his ship, he let his men throw me around like some kind of ragdoll in a horrible version of pass the parcel.” Her lip trembled but she looked Billy in the eyes. “They threw me to him and he said that the only thing that stood between them and my virtue was his good graces. Then they drugged me and left me in a cell. I’d wake up to see him sitting next to me, running his hands through my hair.” She set her jaw. “No man asides from my father had ever touched me before. Most of my fantasies evaporated away on that ship.”

He stared down at her and his mouth twisted as he said, “Never have I appreciated Charles Vane more.”

“Those were my sentiments when he told me what he’d done,” she said. “I rather think I surprised him for a moment.”

He smiled briefly, then gusted out a breath. “I should say ‘no’ to this, Abigail.”

Her heart thudded in her chest. “’Should’?”

“Yes,” he said nodding. “I should say ‘no’ and let you go your way while I go mine, but…” He winced. “I find I can’t bring myself to say it.” Abigail’s breath caught in her throat and her fingers tightened on his. He looked at her. “Let me think on this. I’m not trying to deflect or draw this out, I just-“

“Wish to make an informed decision,” she filled in. “I quite understand. Take as much time as you need.” She laughed lightly. “You know where to find me.”

He met her eyes and shook his head. “Are you sure you wish this for yourself, Abigail? No matter how we manage a, uh, marriage together, it has the distinct possibility of going sideways in a hurry.”

“I’m sure,” she said. “I truly am.”

“Then I’ll…” He shrugged. “I’ll find you, yeah?”

“Yes,” she said as she smiled.

Billy lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles, then he slipped out of her cabin.

Abigail stood in her cabin, frozen in place, her hand still aloft in the air. Then, with a sigh of relief and anxiety, she curled up on her bed and didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

* * *

Abigail spent the next mending and fretting. Luckily, on the outside, it merely appeared as though she were concentrating on the fabric she held on her lap. However, her inner thoughts spun like whirlwinds. She had a hard time believing that she’d honestly asked Billy to marry her. But she had an even harder time believing that he hadn’t said ‘no’. At least, not outright.

She caught glimpses of him throughout the day until the weather turned too windy for her to mend easily on deck, so Abigail retreated to the quiet of her cabin.

Not hungry, she waved off Mrs Porter when it was time for their evening meal, and pled a headache. She figured that Billy would most likely need a decent amount of time to come to a decision, so she made ready for bed. 

Clad in her chemise, with her documents still in the secret pocket in the front, she tried to sleep. She tossed and turned fitfully before she drifted off.

“Abigail,” a low voice said in her dreams. “Abigail?”

She hummed and turned her face into her thin pillow.

“Abigail.” A warm hand cupped her shoulder and shook it ever so slightly.

Her eyes opened. 

Candlelight filled her cabin and she turned to find Billy crouched beside her bunk. It was his hand on her shoulder.

She sat up, her blanket fell to puddle in her lap. “Oh!”

“I’m sorry,” he said as he held his hands up. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” she said, her hand going to her chest as she realised that she sat before him in only her chemise and that the shoulder had slipped in the night, exposing a great deal of her pale skin. “I didn’t expect you.”

He chuckled. “I’m sure. I mean, of course, you didn’t. Why should you?”

“Yes,” she said smiling slightly. “Oh, are you all right? Why…?”

“Why have I come?” he said and his forehead furrowed. “I, ah, well.” He stood up and turned away, and then back towards her. “I originally came to tell you ‘no’.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice small. “I, yes, of course.”

“Abigail,” he said and she looked up. He crouched back down beside her bed. “I said that I originally came to say ‘no’. That was my intention when I entered your cabin, but…”

“But?” she repeated, scarcely daring to breathe.

“Did you know that you have Lyra on your skin?” he asked and his hand lifted to trace a shape on the curve of her shoulder. “You have six freckles in the perfect shape of the stars.”

The pad of his finger slid across, then down, then across again and down. She shivered at his touch.

“I always felt such pity for Orpheus,” she said. “He lost Eurydice simply because he looked back for her.”

“Well, he was warned against it,” Billy said, his finger tracing the shape of the constellation over and over on her skin.

“But he only wished to be sure of her,” Abigail said. “He’d been through so much, he only wanted reassurance that she’d be near him always. He shouldn’t have been punished for that.”

He stared at her for a long moment before his hand cupped her face. “I’m not a good man, Abigail, I’ve told you that. I have no idea how to be a husband. I have no idea what good this will truly do you, and I’m terrified that this will spell the end for both of us. And yet…”

“And yet?” she whispered.

“And yet,” he said his voice low and warm as his thumb smoothed over the apple of her cheek. “I’ll marry you, Abigail Ashe. But only if you’ll marry me in return.”

She smiled as she turned her head to press a kiss to his palm. “I’ll marry you, Billy Bones.”

“We’re mad, you know?” he said before he captured her mouth with his own. “Fucking mad.”

Abigail couldn’t reply manage a reply as a surge of fierce relief had swamped her, so she simply curled herself as close to him as she could manage.

* * *

It'd been a lark. Some kind of wicked impulse that led him to say he was Billy Bones. Just another way to get a free drink or two. But those drinks had turned into five and then a dozen and well, he'd always been good at telling tales.

"You're a wicked boy," his mam had always said. "Telling those tales'll get you into trouble."

She wasn't wrong, the man with brown eyes thought as the pressure intensified on his throat and blackness lined the edge of his vision.

He looked at the piercing blue eyes of a furious and slightly crazed Ben Gunn and tried not to smirk, hand to God, he tried. But, as his mam had said, he was a wicked boy.

"You're not Billy," Gunn said pressing his arm that much harder against his throat. "You're a fucking liar and you'd better crawl back to whatever hole you crawled out of. You're not getting a bit of it. Not one fucking coin, you hear me?"

The man did his best to nod and eventually, Gunn removed his arm and he fell to the floor. Coughing, he looked up at Gunn who sneered.

"It's only because I know that _he'll_ eventually catch up to you that I'm going to let you live," he said. "Keep calling yourself Billy Bones and mark my words, _he'll_ come for you. Like he comes for everyone who betrays him."

Ben Gunn spat at the brown eyed man's feet and then lurched away.

The man watched him go. Then he got to his feet and decided to try his luck back in England. Nassau had a way of creeping into your bones and he needed some place new to win over.

He wondered if the name Billy Bones worked the same kind of magic in the old country as it had in the New World?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there! This is the last chapter and there's only an epilogue to follow! I hope you've enjoyed this little diversion! It's fairly AU at this point, but I've kept some of the general plot points from the lastest season and Treasure Island. Do let me know what you think!

Billy stared out at the sea from his spot on the main mast. Dawn was just breaking and he’d have to go down in a minute, but he kept his eyes on the rising sun.

They were due to arrive in Liverpool within the next few days and he felt a mixture of anticipation and, to be completely honest, bewilderment.

Abigail Ashe had proposed marriage to him. A, what had he heard it called? A marriage of convenience. A husband for her to ease her arrival amongst strangers, and a measure of respectability for him should he wish it.

Five nights ago, in her cabin, he’d agreed.

He shook his head and tried to find in within himself to feel remorse or guilt for he was certainly damning her to something terrible, but it wasn’t there. He just felt…content and relieved.

There was a darkness in him, he felt it looming just out of sight. It was that darkness that had led him straight into a bottle after the fighting had stopped and it was the darkness that kept him in that room in Savannah. If he let it, bitterness and rage and guilt would eat away at him and he was well aware of that fact.

But it eased when she looked at him. That bitterness drifted away when she spoke. 

‘Affection and esteem’ she’d called it; this thing that drew them together. Christ knew he felt esteem for her; the girl had been handed horrors and carried on, all the stronger for the experience. But what the fuck did he know about marriage? She’d made it quite clear that he had all the control in their partnership, that he was free to come and go as he pleased, and he was grateful for the options. However, once Billy Bones made a decision, he tended to give it all he could and he had a feeling that disappointing Abigail would gut him in ways he wasn’t quite ready for.

_You’ve had to deal with far worse, lad,_ Gates’ voice said in his head. _You know how to keep your head. Just follow the currents and see where it takes you. Besides, who’d think to look for you on a farm married to a lady?_

He snorted. Well, he for one couldn’t have predicted this turn of events. As he shifted on his perch, a bit of paper crinkled in his back pocket. The muscles in his jaw flexed when he thought about what was on the paper and he knew that if he wanted to survive (and he really fucking wanted to survive) he had just been given a chance to do so.

The chimes rang out and with one last look at the sun, Billy headed down the rigging, not completely convinced what he was doing was the right thing, but not willing to let it go either.

* * *

He found her a bit later on in the morning, finishing up a pair of breeches that belonged to one of the riggers who’d managed to rip the bloody things in two. He settled near her and worked on sorting out some of the tangled rigging.

“Dare I even ask how Mr Upton managed to damage his trousers in such a way?” she murmured as she sewed.

Billy snorted. “Bloody idiot hooked his belt around the wrong line and when it went up, so did he.”

Abigail giggled and said, “Oh my. I think I’m rather grateful I wasn’t on deck.”

“You should be,” he said. “I was and I still haven’t gotten over the sight.”

She smiled down at her mending. “I don’t want to take this from you, you know.”

“Take what?” he asked his hands paused above the ropes.

“Your love of being part of a crew,” she said. “If you wish to remain at sea, please know that I certainly won’t force you to stay anywhere.” She made a face. “Although I doubt I could force you to do anything you had no wish to.”

_That’s what you think, love_ , he thought fleetingly. He blinked. Where had that thought come from? He cleared his throat.

“We can cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. “I, uh, asked around. I thought that perhaps you didn’t really fancy the captain, um, marrying us. But there should be a chapel in Liverpool that could do it. If you wanted.”

She looked over to him and a smile spread slowly across her face as she nodded. “I think that would be ideal. I’ll need to use my real name. Will I become Mrs Gates, then?”

“I thought it could be Mrs Manderly, actually,” he said feeling his face flush before he gathered up the rigging and stood. “That’s my true name, after all. But no one will come looking for him. Not after all these years.”

She watched him with eyes that understood far too much. “Mrs Manderly,” she repeated and fuck, the sound of his name on her lips did inconvenient things to him. “I think that will work very well.”

He nodded quickly and then walked away because kissing her out in the open wasn’t actually a smart thing to do.

* * *

Liverpool was not Nassau. It was grey and gloomy and the buildings were made of stone and everywhere Billy looked were goddamn English people. It made him feel uneasy, but by the time he’d received his wages from the captain and waved a farewell from some of the other crew, he felt a bit better.

He walked briskly through the streets to a small inn that one of the crew had recommended to him. Abigail would be waiting for him. He’d wanted to escort her there himself, but she’d just smiled and shook her head.

“I can find my way,” she’d said. “It’ll be fine.”

So, he let her. He had a feeling that he’d be letting her do quite a bit in this partnership of theirs. This _marriage_.

Billy stopped in the middle of the fucking lane. He ignored the glares from the people who swerved around him and just focussed on the word. Marriage. He was about to marry a goddamn lady. The same goddamn lady whose goddamn father had sworn to wipe every single one of his goddamn brothers off the map.

Abigail wasn’t her father, that was painfully obvious. But Billy was a pirate and that had to mean something to her? Didn’t it?

He started walking again.

He’d have to say something before they went through with it all. He couldn’t let this girl, this woman, entrap herself with him. It wasn’t fair.

He turned the corner and spotted the sign of the pub and as he approached he saw Abigail. She stood just by the entrance and her eyes watched the crowd. When they landed on him, she smiled. It wasn’t a huge smile or a one meant to entice. It was a sweet smile, a smile that seemed to tell him that she shared a secret with him and his heart thudded hard in his chest.

Billy walked straight to her and stood close. Her head tilted back to look him in the eye.

“Hello,” she said and was she a little breathless? Christ, he hoped so, considering how hard he found it to draw breath himself.

“Hello,” he said. “Abigail, are you absolutely –“

“Yes,” she said placing a hand on his arm, on the skin just above his leather cuff. Her fingers were light and soft as she squeezed his arm gently. “I’m certain.” Her smile wavered. “But, if you’re having second thoughts, I won’t-“

He cut her off with a swift, hard kiss to her mouth. She blinked up at him and he blinked down at her, a little surprised himself.

“There’s a chapel on the next street,” he said.

He swallowed hard and then, remembering how he’d seen it once, he held out his elbow to her, feeling like tens kinds of a fool.

However, her smile reappeared as did a pink blush in her cheeks, and she tucked her arm through the crook of his elbow and stepped close to him.

“Lead the way, Mr Manderly,” she said, her voice strong and steady.

Something like pride filled him as he looked at her. He nodded and they started to walk. He let he sounds of the city wash over him. The tread of horses and carriages, the calls from the docks, the yells of the shop owners, the clang of a nearby smithy. He frowned and stopped.

“What is it?” she asked. “Are you well?”

“Yes, I…” He looked down at her and then smiled. “Would you wait here for a few moments? I need to get something.”

“All right,” she said slowly. She glanced around and brightened. “I’ll be over there.”

He looked in the direction she was staring and chuckled when he saw it was a bookshop. “I should have known. Try not to read them all.”

She gave him a small smile that verged on flirtatious and headed towards the shop. He watched her go and then set off in the direction of the smithy.

It took a little longer than a few moments, but eventually Billy had in his possession two small rings. They were simple poesy rings and Billy wondered if they were out of fashion, but his parents’ had worn them and well, he was hardly a fashionable man.

He found Abigail precisely where he left her, looking at the spines of books while the shopkeeper eyed her suspiciously. He eyed Billy suspiciously as well, but had the good sense to remain quiet.

“Ready?” Billy asked in a low voice when she saw him.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He held out his elbow for her to take and felt much less self-conscious about it this time. She took it with all the ease of a lady and a wife and Billy couldn’t hold back a smirk as they left the shop in the direction of the chapel.

* * *

The wedding was very short and to the point. Abigail was utterly taken aback by the rings and when her lips trembled ever so slightly when he slid hers onto her finger, he wanted to hold her close and never let her go.

He waited for something like panic or remorse to flood his mind, but they didn’t. 

She slid the ring onto his finger and that was that.

They were married.

The sun peeked through the clouds as they emerged from the chapel, Abigail’s hand tucked into his elbow, and Billy blinked as he looked around, and then down at her.

She met his bewildered gaze with one of her own. Then she bit her lip and giggled a little.

“Oh, my,” she said. “Oh, what have we done?”

“Is it terrible that I don’t feel bad?” he asked her. “I feel as though I should feel like I’m taking advantage of you or that we’ve done something utterly mad and impetuous.” He paused. “We have done something mad and impetuous, but I feel nothing but...content.”

“I know what you mean,” she said smiling up at him. “You asked me once if I had any fantasies.” She shook her head. “I don’t think I need them. I have you.”

A fierce possessiveness surged inside of him and with a tug, he pulled her into the street and then into an empty alleyway where he promptly cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. And kissed her and kissed her.

* * *

They left Liverpool and headed south towards the Welsh border in the direction of Abigail’s property. She was to find a solicitor in the nearby town of Chester who would explain further details.

The further inland they went, the more Billy relaxed, which he found rather odd considering he wasn’t entirely sure the last time he’d ever had the sea not in his view. 

But there was something soothing about the rolling green hills and forests that lined the road and the soft pressure of Abigail’s hand tucked into his arm made him feel…

He stirred from his thoughts when they arrived at the inn he’d heard about from the vicar just on the edge of Chester. Its yard looked tidy and he helped Abigail out of the carriage.

“All right?” he murmured to her.

“Utterly,” she said taking her own small bag while he carried his own.

The inside of the inn was much nicer than anything Billy had been in before. Not to say it was grand, but the people were better dressed and the food smelled… Oh, Christ, the food smelled good and his mouth water when he saw the roast being carved in the back.

“Oh, my,” Abigail said and when he glanced down at her he saw she was staring at the roast, too.

He grinned. “First, I get us a room. Second, I get us two roast dinners with everything they have.”

She beamed up at him. “Sounds perfect. I can’t believe how hungry I am.”

“Always have to stretch the rations the last week on a ship,” he said as they headed to the bar. “But it’s been some time since I had a proper roast.”

The landlord came out and nodded. “Help you?”

“A room for myself and…my wife,” Billy said nearly stuttering out the word.

“Your wife, is she?” the landlord asked, his mouth curving up a little.

Billy straightened and was about to snarl when he felt a small hand curl around his arm.

He looked down at Abigail, who stared at the landlord as she said, “Yes, his wife. We also require two dinners and would it be at all possible to have some warm water taken up to our room for bathing?”

She said all of this in the sweetest tone laced with pure steel. He’d never heard the like before from her and he had to smile as he looked at the landlord who blinked at Abigail, before he looked at Billy.

“You heard her,” Billy said his tone more amused than anything else. “Any problem with that?”

“Of course not, sir,” the landlord said chuckling as he relaxed. “I’ve got a decent room with a hip bath. I’ll get some water up straightaway. And dinner will be waiting for you when you get down. Mary! Mary, come and see these people upstairs!”

The room was moderately sized and still much larger than he’d had in some time. The maid immediately set to stoking the fire up and he nodded to her when she was done.

“I’ll fetch some water up for you so that it’s ready after your meal,” the girl said to them before she bobbed her head and left.

“Meal,” Abigail murmured as she set her bag down beside the bed. “I think I could eat a horse.”

“Could be what’s on offer,” Billy said looking the room over. “You never know.”

She giggled and he grinned at her.

A few minutes later, they were back in the main room and large plates of hot food were set in front of them.

They both sighed in unison and Abigail smiled at him broadly before she dug in.

They ate in silence, and more than once Billy marvelled at how comfortable he felt with her. He hoped she felt the same, but if the small smiles she sent his way were any indication, she was all right with the current state of affairs, too.

The maid from before, arms laden with plates, stopped by their table. “Your water’s up in your room, miss. Oh, sorry, madam.”

“Thank you, Mary,” Abigail said. “That’s very kind.”

Mary nodded and then headed off to a table of men Billy supposed were the local farmers.

Abigail took a long sip of her ale, and then stood. Billy got to his feet abruptly, too, and she blinked at him.

“I’m just going to the room,” she said softly. “I’d like to bathe...”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said nodding. “I’ll be...right here. Lock the door and don’t open it for anyone but me, yeah?”

She nodded. “I understand. I’ll be careful, Billy.”

He watched her go and felt a mixture of panic at her absence (if she wasn’t near him, something might happen to her) and well, a sort of relief. It wasn’t as though the thought hadn’t already occurred to him, but Christ, was he going to act like a proper husband tonight? Was he truly going to ...take her? They’d kissed, yeah, but that didn’t mean she wanted him to…

Shit.

He sat back down in his chair and drained the last of his ale and nodded at the innkeeper for another.

“Thought she was your wife, lad?” the innkeeper asked when he brought Billy his ale.

“She is,” Billy said flatly, but when the innkeeper raised his eyebrows, Billy clarified, “She’s been my wife for about five hours.”

“Oh, ho!” The innkeeper laughed. “I see. Nerves, is it? She’s a sweet looking lass, she’ll be no trouble.”

“It’s not like that,” Billy said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to...”

He cut himself off. He wasn’t about to bare his fucking soul to a stranger.

“Ahhh, it’s love then, is it?” the innkeeper said nodding. “In that case, do what feels natural and make sure she’s smiling at the end. You’ll be all right.”

The innkeeper clapped a hand to Billy’s shoulder and headed to the table of farmers in the corner.

Well, that was no help whatsoever, Billy thought as he drank deep from his ale. He stared into his drink for a long moment and then bolted the rest quickly, slammed it down on the table and got to his feet.

A chorus of ‘all right, lad’s and ‘wa hey’s followed him as he left the bar and walked up the stairs. Despite himself, he chuckled and spared a moment to miss his crew. The way they’d been before… Well, _before_.

He arrived at their room and lifted his hand, paused and then knocked on the door. There was a moment before he heard her speak.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” he said and the bolt scraped in the lock as she opened the door.

His mouth went dry when he saw her in the doorway, in a simple chemise, her wet hair loose about her shoulders.

“What was all that yelling?” she asked smiling a little at him before she headed towards the fire. She sat down on a small stool and picked up a towel. He watched her tilt her head so that the curtain of her hair was closest to the fire and she gently patted it with her towel.

“Just the men being rowdy,” he said after swallowing and closing the door; making very sure to throw the bolt.

“If you’d like one,” she said not quite looking at him. “There’s still some water in the hip tub. And there’s a full bucket here beside the fire. It should still be somewhat warm.”

He stared at her and then the metal bucket before he nodded. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll, uh, yeah.”

Cursing himself for an idiot, he grabbed the bucket and ducked behind the thin screen that hid the tub from the rest of the room. He closed his eyes and tried to still his heart as he took in a deep breath. He inhaled the scent of roses.

Fuck.

He stripped and immediately stood in the lukewarm water left over from Abigail’s bath and scrubbed himself raw. Then he picked up the bucket and poured it over himself. Drops splashed onto the floor as he stood there, and he tried to will down his desire.

Just because they were married and because she was _his_ in the eyes of the law and God, and just because she wore his ring and accepted his kisses did not mean that he could just _have_ her.

“I never thanked you,” she said startling him.

“What?” he asked scrubbing his face with the towel.

“I never thanked you,” she repeated.

“For what?”

“The rings,” she said and he swore he could hear a smile in her voice. “You procured poesy rings for us. They’re lovely.”

“They’re inscribed,” he said softly, running his thumb over the top of his ring. 

“I hadn’t realised. What-oh. ‘In thee I find content of mind’,” she read aloud. “Oh. Oh, do you really -”

“’In loyalty I’ll live and die’,” he recited from memory. “That’s on mine and I mean it.”

She fell silent and Billy waited for her to say something, anything. Finally, he wrapped a sheet around his hips and emerged from behind the screen to look at her.

She raised her head from where she’d been staring at the inscription on her ring. Wordlessly, she slid the ring back onto her finger and just looked at him with wide, clear eyes.

“I don’t.” He winced. “Abigail. I don’t know what you were… Oh, Christ, Abigail.”

“Just say whatever it is you’re thinking,” she said plucking at her chemise. “I won’t -”

“I want to bed my wife,” he said all in a rush and he watched her eyes widen. “You. Abigail, I want to bed you, my wife.”

Her cheeks flushed as she smiled and his heart stuttered. “Oh, thank heavens,” she said, slumping a little.

“What?” he asked. “You...want me to…?” He gestured to her and she nodded.

“Yes, very much,” she said. “But, I didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about asking. I’m afraid I rather used up my courage asking you to marry me. I’m not sure how much is left.”

“Scores of it, I’d wager,” he said chuckling. “You’re much braver than I am, sweetheart; that’s for damn sure.”

She smiled brightly, and stood up. Billy stared at her. The firelight behind her turned her thin chemise sheer and he could see every single curve of her body and Christ alive, he wanted her.

He stepped forward and so did she. Her lips trembled and that was the last straw. Billy surged to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to him. His mouth covered hers and she responded immediately; her arms twined around his neck and she rose up to press as close as she could to him. He felt the sweet swell of her breasts against his chest and his arm lowered to cradle her fully against him as he walked them to the bed.

Her hair fanned out on the thin pillow when he set her down and her fingers dug into his shoulders as she kept her mouth on his. His tongue stroked along hers again and again and he discovered his hips matched the rhythm they set. His cock was unbearably hard and it hardened even more when he dragged his palm along the length of her bare leg, her knee, her thigh; he ruched up her chemise as he touched her.

With a swift tug that sent her hair every which way around her flushed face, he pulled her chemise off her and she was bare beneath him.

“God above, Abigail,” he murmured before he lowered his head to her breasts.

Fuck, the sounds she made as he licked and suckled at her breast had him rutting against the mattress. Every soft gasp and sigh and keen filled him with a desire that burned hotter and hotter.

He slipped his hand between her thighs and lightly touched where she burned the hottest. She gasped sharply and he looked up to meet her eyes.

“All right?” he asked.

She nodded, but said nothing. Not taking his eyes from hers, he slid his finger along where moisture had begun to collect. She worried her lip and when he teased his finger inside her, her eyelids fluttered shut and her head fell back, exposing her white throat.

Something like a growl built in his chest and he slid down the bed to cover her with his mouth.

Abigail yelped and he lifted his head. She stared at him and asked, “Are you… Is that… What?”

“It’s all right,” he said as he kissed her stomach. “I need you to feel good, Abigail. I’ll not take you until you feel good.”

“All right,” she said slowly.

He pressed another kiss to her stomach and then went back to her. Her taste exploded over his tongue. Fuck, she tasted of fucking roses. Roses and sea spray and he couldn’t get enough. His tongue laved and thrust into her. He had to hold a hand against her hips as she rocked and moaned along with his ministrations.

His tongue swiped along the top of her cunt and with a cry, she shuddered under him. Billy lifted his head to see her bite down on her hand as she came. With a tug, he pulled the sheet away from his hips and crawled up the length of her and blindly, she reached for him. Her mouth found his and her tongue licked into his mouth and she pulled back.

“Is that-?” she asked.

“What you taste like?” he said. “Yeah. You taste like heaven, Abigail.”

“Billy,” she said before she leaned up to kiss him. Her hands moved over every part of him she could reach and he moaned into her mouth. His cock prodded against her thigh and he lifted his head.

“I can’t… Abigail, I have to,” he said as he fisted his cock and rubbed it against where she was so very wet.

Her eyes flickered down to where they were nearly joined and she swallowed. But then she looked up at him and cupped his face in her small hands.

“Yes,” she said. “Scores of courage, right? I’m not afraid. And I won’t break. Please, Billy.”

He thrust into her.

Later, he’d only be able to recall their coupling in flashes. The curve of her hip beneath his palm. The intense heat of her around his cock. How she arched under him as he curled himself over her as he thrust again and again. However, the moment he would take to his grave with him was the way she breathed his name when she found her pleasure again and when he spilled into her. Then they were silent as they held each other with strong hands as they trembled in the aftermath.

Afterwards, Billy eased himself off of her and drew her close. Eventually, her shivers as well as his own ceased and they lay curled around one another, utterly spent and shaken.

“This idea of yours, to be married,” he said after he cleared his throat. “It was truly an excellent idea.”

There was a brief moment of silence, then Abigail laughed. Billy chuckled and the bed shook as they dissolved into shared mirth. Abigail rose up and pressed a kiss to his chest, then his neck, then his jaw.

“Yes,” she said smiling up at him. “I rather think so, too.”

He grinned and kissed her still laughing mouth, and he spared a moment to recall the innkeeper’s words. Well, they were both smiling, so he must have done something right.

* * *

It took them the better part of a day to reach Abigail’s property. While Billy had never been a farmer, he could tell that the land wasn’t good for much apart from grazing; however Abigail’s relations were kind and honest. They seemed apprehensive about Billy and Abigail, but it didn’t take long for Abigail to win them over and once they saw how unafraid Billy was of hard work, he was welcomed, as well.

A week passed.

Then another.

And another.

Billy hadn’t quite stopped inspecting everyone he met for ulterior motives, but he found that he felt something akin to comfort and working the land was a challenge he accepted and took satisfaction from every time he learned something new.

Abigail flourished. He’d known she would. At heart, she was a woman of action and took to managing the aspects of her little plot of land with ease and delight. He suspected it was the delight that won over the majority of the others. She wanted to learn and she wanted to do things right. Her genuine enthusiasm was infectious and he discovered that he had no desire to leave, even though she’d given him the option at the start.

It was this thought that plagued his thoughts one night as they slept in their cottage. The winds had picked up in the last hour and he watched the shadows of the trees dance along the walls. Abigail sighed in her sleep beside him and he looked at her. Her freckle constellation of Lyra was just visible on her skin in the moonlight and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and then got up.

Once in the sitting room, he stoked the fire back up and soon had a decent blaze going. He sat on the floor in front of it and studied the flames.

After a long while, he pulled the wrinkled bit of paper from his pocket and turned it over and over in his hand.

A creak on the stair made him smile and he looked up as Abigail entered the room.

“You’re here?” she asked.

“Did you think I’d left?” he replied.

“I always knew it was a possibility,” she said quietly, her expression serene, but he saw the worry in her eyes.

He shook his head and held out a hand to her. She took it and let him pull her into his lap. Billy pressed a kiss to her head and she rested her hand on his chest.

The firelight shone on the bit of paper and exposed the black lines of ink.

“What is that?” Abigail asked softly.

“This,” Billy said matter-of-factly, “is a map to the last known chest of the Urca gold.”

She sucked in a breath. “Billy-”

“Silver gave it to me, for safe-keeping,” he said. “Then hell broke loose and, well. Here we are.” He took a deep breath. “He betrayed me. _They_ betrayed me. And I betrayed him. I’ll spend the rest of my life looking over my fucking shoulder for him. Or for whoever feels like they want to take their chances for that cursed treasure. But I’m not going to give him or anyone else the means to find it.”

He tossed the paper into the fire. Abigail’s fingers flexed on his chest and she pressed her forehead to his chin and they watched the map burn.

Billy shifted her in his lap so that her eyes met his. “I’m not leaving, Abigail. I don’t know what ghosts will come for me or if they ever will. I’m loyal to you, no one else. I want to make this land prosperous and I want to be yours. If you’ll still have me.”

“Always,” she said nodding. “I’m yours, Billy. I don’t want anything else. Just this. And I’ll face any ghost that dares to take you from me and I’ll send back to whatever hell they dared to come from.”

“Christ, I love you,” he said before kissing her. “I don’t deserve any of this. I don’t deserve you, but I’m going to earn it.”

“We both will,” she said between kisses. “We’ll earn our second chances and our futures. I swear we will.”

Her hands were sure as they opened his trousers and he pulled her nightgown up and off of her, and he guided her atop him and she sank down the length of his cock. They groaned into each other’s mouth and he slowly lifted her up and down. She dragged her teeth over his lower lip and he jolted at the feeling, and thrust his hips up sharply. Abigail cried out and shuddered and Billy spared a moment to worry that he hurt her, but she rocked again and again and he dug his fingers into her flesh.

She came with another cry and he held her hips down on him as he pulsed within her. He wrapped his arms around her body and she pressed open-mouthed kisses along his chest.

“We’ll be able to see the Northern Crown from here,” he said lightly brushing his lips over her hair. “It’s been some time since I saw it. It’s not always visible in the islands. It may be a good still point for us.”

“Mmm,” she said. “As long as I can still find you, I’ll have the still point I want.” She lifted her head. “Although, I’ll miss seeing Andromeda.”

“She’ll come back,” he said kissing her upturned lips. “Perseus will always find her.”

She smiled and they fell asleep together, curled up in front of the fire where a priceless treasure map burned to nothing.

* * *

**Five years later…**

The man with the brown eyes was terrified. They were after him. He didn’t know who, but someone thought he possessed something that he didn’t have. 

He’d always known that his luck would run out and he’d had one hell of a streak, but it always ran out in the end. 

Thing was, he’d been Billy Bones for so long, he didn’t know how to be anyone else at this point.

Maybe it was just as well, who he truly was wasn’t worth much, but dying as Billy Bones?

Perhaps, that’d be just as much fun as living as him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has stuck with this story! This was supposed to be a simple one-shot, but it grew! I hope you enjoy the epilogue!

**Bristol – mid 1700s**

The port city of Bristol was much like it had been the last time Flint had seen it: bustling, filled with every sort of smell and grey. To be sure, it had grown in the last however many years it’d been since he’d set foot on English ground, but it still had the feel of a city full of people in constant motion.

He’d spent the morning running various errands and when some of his old scars started to ache too much in the cold and wet weather, he’d headed back to the small inn beside the harbour. He read the book he’d picked up at a bookseller’s with ease and enjoyed the silence of the room.

However, when a familiar hitched gait approached the room, Flint looked up from his book. Silver walked inside without any kind of a greeting and Flint aimed for an impassive expression, but the way Silver scowled at him he supposed he fell a bit short.

“Problems?” Flint asked, and aware that he wasn’t getting back to his book anytime soon, he closed it and let it rest on his lap.

“He didn’t have it,” Silver said.

“Who didn’t have what?” Flint replied.

“Billy!” Silver said his eyes narrowed. “Billy fucking Bones didn’t have my fucking map.”

Flint frowned. “You went looking for Billy?”

“No, I sent Pew after him,” Silver said sitting down heavily in the captain’s chair. “The bastard didn’t have the map on him.”

“He could have hidden it away,” Flint said. “Did you ask him?”

“No.”

“Did Pew?”

Silver shot him a glare. “You know that Pew isn’t one for interrogation.”

“Well, then what are you –“

“He’s dead.”

Flint paused. “Pew’s dead?”

“No,” Silver said with a sigh. “Billy is. He died. Heart attack, they said. After he got the black spot.” Silver chuckled. “I can’t believe it. Of all the fucking irony.”

Flint stared at Silver before he said, “I’m a little confused. Are you saying that Pew found Billy?”

“Yes.”

“And that he delivered a black spot to Billy and Billy, the same Billy who instigated the return of the black spot myth himself, _died_ as a result of receiving one?” Flint summed up.

“Yes, fuck, I’m sorry, all right?” Silver said. “I should have said something to you. But I heard he was there and I had to –“

“Where?”

“What?” Silver asked.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Flint said leaning forward. “Where did Pew find Billy?”

“The Admiral Benbow Inn, in Cornwall,” Silver said his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

Flint sat back in his chair. “He’s not dead.”

“What?” Silver’s voice went low and hard.

“Billy Bones isn’t dead,” Flint said.

“And you know this how?” Silver asked, his voice a steel trap but Flint was well used to navigating that particular deadfall.

“Well, I can’t say that I know for absolute certain,” Flint said. He nodded at the large desk. “But read that treatise there. It was recently submitted by a man up near the northern Welsh border.”

Silver kept his eyes on Flint, but slipped the article off the desk.

“The last paragraph in particular,” Flint said letting his head rest against the back of the chair.

“’We will no longer be satisfied being the sole means of production in the region’,” Silver read. “’Not when there are opportunities to be had in the southern parts of the country. There is plenty of wealth and work to go around and we will not stand for being held hostage by a government that only accedes to the titled.’” He paused, and then finished, “’Unless all of us are considered free, none of us are free.’”

He looked up at Flint. “Just because it sounds like him-“

“And there’s this,” Flint said pulling a scrap of paper from his book and tossing it to Silver.

He caught it and looked at it, then chuckled. “This is from the fucking society pages.”

“Read it anyway,” Flint said smirking.

Silver cleared his throat and affected a posh tone, “’The latest society functions in Manchester were given something of a start when the long, lost Lady Abigail Ashe,’” Silver sat up, “’now Mrs Abigail Manderly, attended. The young lady hadn’t been seen since her dreadful kidnapping and the death of her most-beloved father,’” Flint snorted, “’but she looked radiant and happy on the arm of her husband. The Manderlys’ land near Wrexham has turned a healthy profit and there is some talk that they’ll be trying their hand in local politics. Rumour has it, they both love a good argument, and who knows if they’ll be rearing their son, Henry, for politics.” Silver stopped and then continued, “If their daughter, Miranda, looks anything like her mother, they’ll have to fend the suitors away.’”

Silver stared at the paper while Flint stared at Silver. Eventually, Silver looked up and said, “Did Billy fucking Bones marry the fucking governor’s daughter?”

“It would appear so,” Flint said.

“How far is it to Wrexham?” Silver asked.

“No,” Flint said shaking his head. “You’re not going up to Wrexham to see whether or not Billy still has your map. You don’t need the map; I’m old, but I can still remember enough about the island-“

“It’s not that,” Silver said. “I want to make sure he doesn’t ever use it. I’m not going to have that money taken from me again.”

“Billy was never in it for the money,” Flint said making a face. “God, he was in it for the crew. He never gave a damn about the treasure. Let him live out his days as a fucking sheep farmer.”

Silver studied him. “Is this because you murdered Gates and her father? Is this what you do when you kill someone’s father figure? You always had a bewildering soft spot for him.”

“No,” Flint said. “I have a soft spot for _her_. I’m not going to let you go and murder her husband.”

Silver glared at him for a moment, and then said, “I’m going after that gold.”

“You know she doesn’t care about the gold,” Flint said with a sigh. “She never did. She cares that you come back to her.”

“She’s a queen,” Silver said matter-of-factly. “And she’s running a revolution and as we both know, those aren’t cheap.” He met Flint’s eyes and reluctant excitement stirred in his belly. “I’ll leave Billy to his domestic bliss, but I’m going after our gold.”

“As if there was any doubt about that,” Flint said as he nodded once more at the desk. “There’s a list of all the able-bodied men that should be within five miles of Bristol. They’re the ones to start with.”

Silver grinned and Flint closed his eyes and shook his head, utterly resigned to his fate, but grinned back anyway.

The things he did for love.

* * *

**A village outside of Wrexham – a few weeks later**

Abigail blinked down at the article in the broadsheets just handed to her by the local postmaster and wondered if she and Billy hadn’t somehow been spared a terrible fate? 

“Mama? Are we going home now?” a little voice broke through her thoughts and she looked over at her children in the back of the small wagon. It had been Miranda who’d asked and Abigail couldn’t help but smile at the little girl who had her father’s eyes and her mother’s straight brown hair.

“Are you ready to go home?” she asked them as she pulled herself into the wagon, taking up the reins with ease.

“Millie is,” Henry, her son replied very seriously. “She needs to see that the lambs are in the shed.”

Millie was a very young collie pup that had taken to the children far better than she’d taken to the sheep and Abigail feared that she had somehow ended up with a house pet as opposed to an additional work dog.

“Oh, does she?” Abigail said ruffling Henry’s sand blond hair that had to come from his father as none of the Ashe’s had ever had hair that colour. “I see. Well, hold on and we’ll head home straightaway.”

The children cheered and Abigail drove the wagon away from the little village a few miles from the farm. They kept up a steady stream of chatter and Abigail forgot, for the most part, about the article in the paper.

However, when she pulled into the farmyard and saw her husband wrestling with a truculent ram, she felt her heart pound within her chest.

_Oh, God,_ she thought. _Did I almost lose him? Please let this be the end of it._

He looked up when Miranda and Henry both called out respective, “Papa! Papa, we’re back!”

The smile he gave was so far removed from the scowl she’d seen that first day on the _Eloise_. He looked happy and healthy and she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the children as they ran to him and he scooped them both up into his arms.

“There’s my faithful crew!” he said. “I need two pairs of steady hands to help me. Are you up to the challenge?”

They answer was of course ‘yes’ and with a wink in her direction, he quickly had Henry and Miranda feeding some of the smaller lambs that the ewes had rejected.

He watched over them for a moment and with a nod to one of the farmhands, he made his way to Abigail.

“Did we lose many?” she asked, referring to the latest set of lambs birthed in the recent days.

“Only one,” he said. “This year is better than last.”

“Which was better than the one before,” Abigail said nodding. “Do you know, I think this farming lark is working out for you, sailor?”

He grinned and pressed a quick kiss to her neck. “How was the village?”

“Fine,” she said, then because she couldn’t ignore it. “There’s a story in the paper that you need to see. Later.”

She met his gaze and he nodded slowly. “After they’re out for the night?”

Abigail smiled and rose up to press a firm kiss to his mouth. “Try not to let them bring home any more animals.”

“The barn cat had kittens last night.”

“Oh, give me strength,” Abigail said but she laughed as she headed inside to check the accounts and start supper.

Supper in the Manderly house was a far cry from what Abigail had grown up with, but more like what she suspected Billy had been accustomed to. The children talked about everything and Billy answered question after question, and Abigail chimed in and everyone ate with enthusiasm and she often wondered if her heart was big enough to contain all of the love and relief she felt when she looked around the table at her family?

Billy was the one who usually put the children to bed. It had been agreed that he was the best at reading the storybooks and Abigail would sit on the bed, Miranda and Henry curled up next to her as he read.

That night he read the story of the Minotaur and the brave Ariadne who gave Theseus a ball of string to mark his path.

“We’ll have to try that when we go to the market,” Miranda said sleepily.

“Mama, may we have some of your yarn?” Henry asked.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Abigail replied kissing their foreheads and tucking them in.

She headed to the sitting room and stoked the fire; she heard Billy give his own ‘good-night’s to the children and she waited.

Soon enough, strong arms wrapped around her waist and a warm mouth kissed her ear. “What happened today?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said as she turned in his arms and held him close. “But there is something you should read. It’s in the paper that comes out of Bristol.”

She pulled away and lightly pushed him into the armchair beside the fire. Then she retrieved the paper from her basket and handed it to him.

Absently, his attention already focussed on the paper, Billy pulled Abigail into his lap. She curled up into a wonderfully familiar position and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Fuck,” he breathed after awhile. “They’re going after the gold.”

“The article’s rather sensational,” Abigail said. “It could just be a rumour. Everyone loves a good pirate story, they tend to sell well.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s them. Well, I’m sure some of this is embellishment, but I knew them, Abigail. And the truth was often far stranger and more fantastic than fiction.” He lowered the paper and looked at her. “They either didn’t bother with me, or couldn’t find me.”

“Good,” she said lightly, although her fingers tightened on his shirt. “They would have had one hell of a fight on their hands if they had.”

“So bloodthirsty,” he murmured.

“You shouldn’t have taught me how to fire a pistol,” she replied.

“I’ll never regret that,” he said. “I think that’s the afternoon we conceived Miranda.”

Abigail laughed and pressed her mouth to his. “Are we safe?”

“As safe as we ever were,” he said with a sigh as he kissed her back. “I’ve read that there have been several slave uprisings in the Caribbean. I imagine that takes a considerable amount of cash to maintain.”

“You think that’s why they’re going to look for it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Possibly. I’m not sure I care why they’re going, as long as they go.”

He surged against her, and kissed her with a ferocity that left her head spinning and her body aflame.

“This is mine,” he said against her lips. “You are mine. I didn’t want to have to fight them, but I would have. For you. For my family.”

“I know,” she said tugging at his clothes, while he pulled at her skirts. “I would have stood right beside you.”

“Fuck, Abigail,” he said around a groan as she shifted to straddle his lap. “I actually meant to talk to you about the flock numbers. I think we can get a better deal from the butchers.”

“I know,” she said not bothering to remove his trousers completely, just enough to free him so that she could sink down on him. They both moaned at the feel of him filling her. “I think we can negotiate a much better agreement.”

He nodded and thrust up into her. “Later.”

“Much later,” she agreed.

* * *

In a village overlooking the sea, there’s a grave with a simple wooden marker that reads ‘Billy Bones’. The local seamen love to tell stories about the man who told tales about the fearsome pirates and their murderous ways. Eventually, the wooden marker faded to nothing, weathered away by salty rain and wind.

But the stories…those remained.

The End


End file.
